Another Christmas Carol
by Onlyndreams145
Summary: something I wanted to try. A sort of sequel to one of my favorite stories through the eyes of the oldest Cratchit daughter. Can Scrooge stay on the right path? This is a mixture of the Kelsey Grammer Scrooge, Albert Finny and the book
1. Chapter 1

I shall never forget the Christmas when our lives turned around for the better. Or how I met our families "guardian angel" as we know him now. Father reminds me of it often in teasing, that I could have ruined the family forever by having a hearty aim with a snowball and the gall to throw it. We can laugh about it now but it had father in a total panic whence his boss came into the counting house the place in between his back and shoulder blades covered in snow as he cursed the milliners' young apprentice; the one with the shabby dress and haughty heir to her. I think papa was wishing to God that day that I was not his daughter.

But the fact was he had called me "Emma" instead of "Martha" one to many times and with the stories my dad relayed to us back home and with his own arrogance in check, he had it coming to him. At times he will still call me "Emma" when he is in a teasing or affectionate mood and I still get as angry with him now as I did then, depending on his tone.

"My name is Martha!" I retort again and again. "Not Emma!" the first time I had said that it was between gritted teeth and he wasn't meant to hear it, but he did and he replied with a bite. "Martha, Emma, Jane, Queen Elizabeth, no matter what your name is you are of no more worth to me than a nail in my coffin, now where is my hat you stupid girl."

I thought to oblige him by saying "If I were a nail in your coffin you old miserly git, I would be doing the world a great service!" but I knew that my employer Mrs. Hogan was no more kind than he was generous so I bit my tongue. I could feel the eyes of the two other girls I worked with Nan and Edna watching me from the back room and I could hear their frighten whispers as Mrs. Hogan's heavy footfall came booming up behind me.

"Now, now, now I know we can work quicker Martha, especially for the likes of Mr. Scrooge." She grumbled in her husky voice as she planted her elbows on the counter and batted her cow like eyes in an act of flirtation. I rolled my eyes and met Edna in the door way as she gave me the hats. "Look at her!" Edna gawked. "Flirting away like the devil were at her heels."

Nan chimed in next. "After his money doubtless. Wont do her a lick of good. That man would no more part with a shelling than I would me left arm!"

It was my turn to speak again as I made a few last adjustments. "And dont I know it." I scoff. "Me poor dad…" I trailed off and cast my eyes back up at the pitiful scene. I shook my head and sighed as I thought of my father working for the bastard, trying to save our Tiny Tim. "The very birth of Christ couldnt move that man." I hiss and then squinted my eyes deep in thought. "I hope they do marry." I swore at the two employers. "A match made in heaven that. Maybe she could lay on him on their wedding night and crush him like the bug that he is."

"And her?" Edna asked indulging in the same fantasy as the three of us crowed the doorway. "Her? why, she would likely freeze to death, I know how stingy he is about coals."

My two friends begun to laugh. "I'll fetch the parson, if you'll bring the rice." On this note I headed back to assume the role of clerk as Mrs. Hogan toddled her big-boned self away with a scornful look as I saw Mr. Scrooge writing in his little debt journal. "Here are your hats sir." I say patiently. He takes them. "Well, you certainly took your dear sweet time with it, girl."

I felt my chest tighten as I went to turn away. "Happy Christmas sir." I breathed but with the hook of his walking stick he caught my wrist and drew me back. "Hum bug." Was his first statement, but then he begun to study me carefully. "Your eyes." He mused. "I know those eyes from somewhere." for the first time I felt an element of fear that he might have marked my fathers round hazel eyes on me. The Cratchit family eyes. Deep, deep hazel almost unmistakable. "What did you say your last name was?" he pondered.

I thought quickly but spoke softly. "Coffin-nail. Emma Coffin-nail"

He shot me a look that would chill the devil. He was going to say something but my own employer beat him to it. "Martha do you want to spend your Christmas without a job to come back to?!" she nearly shrilled rushing over. I felt like a fool standing there as he smirked. "Mrs. Hogan I was thinking about closing your shop here due to your debt but seeing what you have to work with as a clerk, I will spare you the insult. I know how hard it is to find good help." I could not curve my tongue at this.

"Maybe because Bob Cratchit has been nothing but good to you and you've never had to find anyone else who was willing to deal with the like of you!"

His face was expressionless as my hand flew to my lips as if to try and stop them. What had I just done? I had insulted the man who had the power to make my father's work even more horrid than what it was. or make his wages less, or god forbid give him the sack. I looked away. "I am sorry Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge sir, my mouth ran away with me."

"I suggest you run with it next time."

I curtsied. "I shall sir thank you." Mrs. Hogan then cleared her throat in warning. "And the hats are no charge sir. It will come out of my wages personally sir." Another curtsy. "Happy Christmas sir." And with a grin of satisfaction for being able to worm away with his cash he left. I waited but a moment, before the idea hit me on how to get in the last word by running out to the steps of the shop, scooping up what snow was on the railing and beaming him with a well formed snowball. "Why, you insufferable little sprite!" he growled trying to brush himself off. "Devil take you."

"If he does, I suppose we will see each other in hell then."

"Bah, humbug." And those were our parting words.

I went back into the shop trying to rub warmth back into my hands and kicking myself for practically loosing my Christmas bonus and knowing Mrs. Hogan as I did half my wages too just because she hadn't won Mr. Scrooges heart as she had hoped.

I would spend the rest of my day until lunch hour wondering which area of my life could possibly afford the money loss more; my immediate family who was in dire need of it or the ever allusive wedding Tom Jenkins and I had been trying to save up for since forever. I could almost hear the church bells rusting in the chapel.

As the girls and I prepared for lunch we discussed our holiday plans and luncheon plans. Nan was going to buy her sister a doll from the toy shop after they went caroling and Edna was going to have lunch at the Marks hotel with her mother and father on lunch hour. "Not me." I said as I tied on my bonnet. "For luncheon I need to go down to the Royal Exchange and see if Tom had any luck getting an extra two weeks to pay his debt."

Edna begun to snort. "Well, if old Scrooge has any notion that Tom is aiming to marry you he will probably charge for the snowball you threw!"

Nan luckily was a little more sensitive to my situation and asked "Are you still thinking of a honeymoon in Paris Martha?"

I shook my head pitifully. "At this rate Tom and I could hardly afford a honeymoon in Soho. Paris is a pipedream now. Perhaps the whole wedding is a pipedream now. It has been seven years. I dunno. But no matter what, me brother comes first."

And with that I set off towards the Royal Exchange through the ruthless flurries of snow that paid no heed to what amount of bundles of rags and skirts I seemed to adorn; chilling me to the bone. I had hoped to find my dear soup seller and theater performer outside the Exchange but no such luck. He was selling to the wealthy as a last attempt doubtless. I would have to dive in among the higher ranks of society to find my dear run-of-the-mill fiancé. Something I never liked to do. I never liked to feel stupid. Granted, I wasn't well-read like the ladies who could shop careless at the exchange but I was not a stupid girl by any means, but oh, I felt quite stupid among their lot I can tell you. Why do the rich always acquit knowledge to wealth and fashion? I can show you an old begger who is wiser than any dolly lama you could ever hope to meet that no one would pay a bleeding never mind to, then I could show a young heiress in pretty laces and bows who doesn't know nothing about nothing and suddenly she is the most sought out creature in all England. Now as a Cratchit my philosophy was to love all, but I could not manage it. I frowned upon the rich, not out of envy but out of experience. I had not met one wealthy person that I had an inkling of liking too, nor did I hope too. They look at kindness as if it is a favor and not a necessity. Father often called me cynical and narrow minded in this way, grouping all wealthy people and labeling them as if they were all one being, but he had never truly given me a concrete example to think to the contrary. No one had!

"Ms. Cratchit?" a tiny voice called me back to the moment at hand. I turned to see another of my class. It was a man holding the hand of a young girl in black. The Smives, I knew them well. They were our neighbors and in mourning too the wife and mother of that family had just recently died. "Mr. Smive." I greeted before kneeling down to be eye-level with the girl, I offered her a smile. "Ello Grace, you get lovelier and lovelier each time I see you. A Happy Christmas to you love."

I gave her cheek a light stroke and she gave a small curtsy and I stood back up to shake Mr. Smive's hand. "Are you ere to visit your father on Christmas eve Ms. Cratchit."

I shook my head. "Heavens no, Mr. Scrooge would have his hide if he ever had visitors at work. No, actually I'm here for Tom have you seen him?"

Mr. Smive looked tired and nervous as he dabbed sweat from his brow, despite the cold. "No, but I must find Mr. Scrooge myself and implore money for funeral expenses." He said this with a glimmer of tears in his eyes and choked them back for sake of his daughter and my heart pealed for him. I put a hand on his shoulder and replied softly. "God bless you Mr. Smive and your family. If you need anything, anything at all you need but knock at our door. I know our Lucy and Tim would be delighted to see and play with Grace again, anytime."

"Thank ye Martha." He replied. "Happy Christmas." He walked away and for a moment my heart was in mourning as well. So much sadness at such a happy season. Suddenly, I was clasped from behind and twirled around violently and I shrieked as a deep hearty laugh rang in my ear. He spun me to face him and kept laughing before he hastily captured my lips in a kiss. "There she is!" Tom roared out in his lion of a voice. "And how is the prettiest girl in England?"

I slapped his shoulder still coming down from my fright, but I giggled too. "Bloody hell you horses arse! You will send me to hospital, you frightened me half to death!" still laughing he wrapped his arms around my waist and drew me near, ignoring my false anger. "You did not answer me question Martha Elizabeth Cratchit, I asked you how the prettiest girl in England was!"

My arms slinked up around his strong neck and I smiled up at him lovingly. "I will have to tell you when I meet her." I tease him softly with a small kiss of my own and then look away. "As for me, I am not so well. I lost half my wages love." I look back into his eyes. "I am sorry. Try not to hate me too much."

He took my hands and led me a small distance back to his cart which was too the side of the hustle and bustle. "Hate you? I could never hate you my Martha not even if there were gain in it." He assured before crossing his arms. "Now what did old Mrs. Hogan find wrong with you this time?" his tone was almost condescending, but I didn't mind.

"It wasn't so much her as it was Ebenezer Scrooge." Tom rolled his eyes at this and walked around his cart and I followed at his heels using my hands to express myself. "Tom, I couldn't hold me tongue, not on this. Tom, a girl can only take so much! He has been ruining our lives left and right. What with dad and you and all! Its not right to keep silent about it, its just not right!"

Tom picked up a mug of soup, examined it, sighed and put it back down. "I wish you wouldn't get so bloody passionate about every little thing Martha, your mouth runs way with you when you do." At this I looked him square in the face, hands on hips and asked. "And what would you have me be passionate about Tom?"

Tom shrugged. "Mending me socks, wearing pretty things, wifely things, womanly things!" he pauses and takes me in his arms once more. "Me and me alone. Well anyway, we shall have nothing to put towards our wedding funds this month my love. He has hit me too, with interest."

My heart drops at this and I pull away unable to speak, but Tom continues. "Less you want me to put some of the pageant money towards our wedding-"

"No-no-no-no! God no that money is for the hospital, I would never be able to live with myself." I retort quickly, horrified at the idea. I then take to adjusting his old tattered scarf to change my mindset. I sigh heavily. "Maybe I can work something with Mrs. Hogan, sleep in the shop maybe and work extra. I'm too old for Christmas mornings anyhow." I was lying even to me own heart, one is never too old for Christmas mornings. Tom smiled gently and kissed my brow. "That's my girl." I revel in the moment. He was always so bright, so jolly, so present.

And after that moment suddenly I was off again, back to the shop but I was not alone. Two portly collectors proceeded me walking at a steady waddle and another man proceeded them just as briskly as if trying to escape. I could hear what they were saying, I clutched my shawl to my person and listened.

"Are there no prisons?" asked none other Scrooge.

"Plenty of prisons," said the gentleman, laying down the pen again.

"And the Union workhouses?" demanded Scrooge. "Are they still in operation?"

"They are. Still," returned the gentleman, "I wish I could say they were not."

"The Treadmill and the Poor Law are in full vigour, then?" said Scrooge.

"Both very busy, sir."

"Oh! I was afraid, from what you said at first, that something had occurred to stop them in their useful course," said Scrooge. "I'm very glad to hear it."

"Under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christian cheer of mind or body to the multitude," returned the gentleman, "a few of us are endeavouring to raise a fund to buy the Poor some meat and drink and means of warmth. We choose this time, because it is a time, of all others, when Want is keenly felt, and Abundance rejoices. What shall I put you down for?"

"Nothing!" Scrooge replied.

"You wish to be anonymous?"

"I wish to be left alone," said Scrooge. "Since you ask me what I wish, gentlemen, that is my answer. I don't make merry myself at Christmas and I can't afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the establishments I have mentioned - they cost enough; and those who are badly off must go there."

"Many can't go there; and many would rather die."

"If they would rather die," said Scrooge, "they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population. Besides - excuse me - I don't know that."

"But you might know it," observed the gentleman.

"It's not my business," Scrooge returned. "It's enough for a man to understand his own business, and not to interfere with other people's. Mine occupies me constantly. Good afternoon, gentlemen."

And with that the two men retired there cause with more decency than I could ever manage. Thrice this day Ebenezer Scrooge had made my heart lurch with a hatred that was so vile I could taste it in my mouth. I was impassioned again to say something, had he noticed me behind him at all I might have. I might have told him to make good on his own advice and decrease the surplus population himself by dying, God help my soul. That the cold words might have sprung forward like a snowball and hit him and the iciness might have spread to his bones and heart, that they might have helped him, change him, make even the slightest difference!

I watched him go on his way and then looked up to the flame of the street lamp. What sort of past had molded such a creature? What tragedies had he undergone? I wish I knew. For just as quickly as my hatred had come pity followed. You had to pity a man like that, limp and all. He must have heartaches something terrible to end up as he was. I wish I knew the past, I wish…


	2. Chapter 2

Christmas morn came like clockwork. I woke on the hard **wood floor** of the shop in front of the dying embers of the fire. my back and neck stiff. I stood and looked round me at the empty little shop as the sun streamed in. I had managed by God's good graces to clear the work away that I had set out to do. All was so still. My pay lay glimmering on the **front counter** , as tempting as if it were solid gold but I was unsettled. The dreams I had that night unsettled me and I had never been moved by dreams before. I stretched, my neck swirling round like a goose. I cleaned myself up as best I could in front of one of the mirrors as I tried to recount the dream the best I could.

It had been like I was floating with someone, but I couldn't remember who? It was as if I were watching a unfamiliar life unfold before my eyes. I saw a boy change into a man, heavily abused and abandon by his father, I saw his sister live and die, I saw his love gained and lost, a friendship lost. His joys, his sadness but God help me I could not remember who it was. I remembered hearing my own voice in the dream but not my own words as if…as if I were possessed but not in a bad way. And there was a voice, a woman's voice I had never heard before, a airy voice that told me simply "Look after him, be his guide". And that was the only part of the dream I could remember clear as day, as if the voice were still in my head. "Look after him"  
I grabbed my wrap still shaken by all of this but yet the sense that I was homeward bound soon overtook it as well as all the greetings of "Happy Christmas" from everyone around. I was ready to be home and stay home, be in the arms of my family, see my Tiny Tim, my **Belinda** , mum and dad,  
Peter and Mathew and Lucy. I was ready for the pudding, the Christmas punch, the carols, the paper decorations. My God I was ready to be home! Yet whenever I seemed too jovial the voice came back to me "look after him!" and it bothered me. not so much that it was there, it meant me no ill-will but that I could not obey it. That I had no inkling of who she or it wanted me to take charge over.  
I kept looking around for a boy or man as if I would know him when I saw him and no sooner. I went on this way all the way home. the house was how I left it, battered and standing on its last legs, proof that it was well loved. I beheld it from a small distance away shrouded in virgin white snow, glorious! I had been expecting to be met with a flooding group of Cratchits, but none came. No little brothers or sisters came to pull at my garments excitedly, no Belinda to sport at my lateness, no mum to peal away my bonnet, feel my hands and tell me how cold they felt and no father to kiss me to his hearts content. I felt troubled by this and went in.  
"Hello? Happy Christmas! Is anyone home?" I asked as I opened the door slowly, my first thoughts were immediately that something had happened to Tim and my heart wretched. But no, there he was God bless him on his little crutch with the rest of our family surrounding our table; the expression on their faces was that of awe, like the 8th wonder of the world lie there.  
"It's a wonder that the table hasn't broken." Said Belinda.  
"I don't think we have a pan big enough to roast it in." added mum in a voice laced with calculation. "Bless my soul alive." While all this took place they had never averted their eyes from whatever was on the table. I had managed to hang up my bonnet and wrap considerably unnoticed. Were they sporting with me? It would be very much like Belinda to **play** such a trick and get mum and Lucy in it but certainly not Peter and Tim and dad. But they certainly couldn't have been this fussy over the annual chicken- or goose if we were lucky. I mean there had always been some fuss over Christmas dinner, but never before it was cooked and never to this extent. I stepped behind my littlest sister Lucy and rested my hand on her shoulder, suddenly I understood.

"Ave you ever seen anything so big in your life Martha?" she asked looking back and up at me. I let out a cry of surprise that was halfway between a laugh and a sob. "What is this?" I questioned, but I knew exactly what it was. I had passed it in the poultry shop window a thousand times before, making my mouth water each. "It's a turkey Martha!" exclaimed Belinda as she clung to dad. "a real turkey!"  
"But how did it get here?"  
They then explained to me that the poultrer had brought just as it Tim and dad were about to go caroling himself in a cab from a friend who wished to remain anonymous and with turkey came gifts for each of us. I tell you never before was a turkey so fussed over! Mum and dad took turns circling the turkey round and round nearly arguing on how they might possibly cook such a bird and if they should cut it prematurely to do so. In fact, mum was nearly in a tizzy to not have enough sage and onion **stuffing** and Tim suggested that we might invite the Smives to mix their stuffing with ours since there was certainly enough food to share.  
We were jovial, all of us like we had never been before. We had food, food for weeks perhaps and when it came time to toast the founder of our feast we had no name to give except "bless the guardian angel who had provided us with this bounty." We toasted and ate, and the Smives made merry with us and stayed late into the night. Dad, having been so tired and so stuffed with turkey napped heavily in his chair. Lucy and Mathew bolted for the unopened presents having been good and patient to wait until the Smives had left. They handed Belinda and I our gifts from our guardian angel swiftly before returning to Tim to help him open his first.  
Belinda and I held our gifts on our laps as we sat in the corner and watched and talked among ourselves being the two closest in age **discounting** Peter. Belinda was 16 and I 23 and we got along as if our minds and souls were one. "Look at that!" she gawked pointing at the blonde porcelain doll that Lucy was now twirling round with. "I never had a dolly as nice as that! Hell, I've never hads anything nice as that!"  
"Of course not!" I chuckled. "You got my old doll from when I was small, and I dragged that thing with me everywhere." I recounted the memory fondly, dad had been so proud when he had saved up enough money to buy me a toy. Of course I was an only child back then, that was when he first started working for Mr. Scrooge. I do not remember having any problems passing down my dolly to Belinda, perhaps it was because I had excepted her as my own real living dolly more than a baby sister. Which was not the case when it came time for Belinda to pass down the doll (or what was left of it) to Lucy, but Luckily Lucy took after me and preferred living, breathing baby Tim to the doll. But still this new doll was so beauteous even I felt a pang of envy.  
Mathew had received a cricket set and was already engulfed in trying to plot alternate ways to include his lame younger brother in on the game. Handing him balls and gaging the force of his pitches. A very smart lad our Mathew, nearly a philosopher at that.  
Our Tim received a set of fine tin soldiers, that were perhaps finer then the Queen's own guards. They all stood at attention with duty shining through their painted eyes. They looked as their only wish in life was to protect and guard that little boy with all their might and that they might carry him through anything, small as they were. They were cherished already! We all knew by the look on Tim's face that no toy in the world would ever be more loved by a child, not ever.  
Mum had watched the event with tears brimming in her eyes not wanting to open her own gift. "Having a family with full bellies and happy children" she said "what decent mother could ask for more?" but with some prompting from us she did open her gift. Her eyes glistened when she removed a ruffled silk shawl from the box and she put on all most instantly waking dad up to model it for him, and then laughing sat on his lap and gave him a kiss.  
"Lets open ours together!" said Belinda to me eagerly. I nodded at the idea and we tore away the paper, noting that whoever they were from knew us by name because our names were on the gift. Belinda and I both braced ourselves to remove the box top. "A gilded mirror!" Belinda shrilled with happiness as she lifted the gift by its elegant handle and held it up to admire her pretty round face, turning it from side to side. I chuckled. "I cannot decide which is prettier, the mirror or the girl in it."  
I then turn my attention to my own gift as I parted the sea of tissue paper. A beautiful, diamond studded broach caressed my fingertips. I gasped and withdrew it into the light. It rendered me absolutely speechless. I had never seen anything so fine. It looked so out of place in my rough hands, shaped like a delicate snowflake. I felt unworthy of such a kindness and treasure. Had I ever lost my faith in mankind I only need but remember this day, this broach. "Oh, I love it!"  
Those of us who shared a room; that is, Belinda, Lucy, Tim and I lay in our beds that night for a long span of time taking guesses at who our guardian angel might be, but none of us knew in the slightest.  
The next morning I was woken by the sound of my mother's voice rather earlier than I had hoped to be up, given the night before and the fact that it was back to work the next day. "Rise and shine Martha my love! We are going to market and church today!" she announced in a sing-song as she ripped back the curtains.  
I sat up slightly and put my hands up to my eyes to block them from the glaring sun. "Oh mum must we?" I moaned. "We went to market last weekend and with all the food from yesterday we couldn't possibly be in need of anything."  
Once my eyes adjusted to the light I could see that she was in her best gown with her new shawl draped upon her and she spun happily. "I want to show off what a fine family I ave." she stated before clapping her hands. "Wash your face and hands, and wear that new broach of yours eh!" she strutted out of the room like a peacock and I fell back into my bed cupping my face and laughing, I was so bleedin tired and she wanted to go to market. I could only imagine dad would feel the same. I then spurred myself to roll over and kiss little Tim until he woke up too. "Mum says we're going to market today, may I have the honor of carrying you there?" I ask him gently. He cheers and consents and I get up and dress him.  
We were already and lined up at the door to go. Incidentally, dad was still asleep in his chair and day clothes and all. He must have never went to bed. Mum went over and thrummed on his legs a little. "Bob. Bob!" she called and he began to stir awake. "Wake up. We're going to market!" and with that she paraded the rest of the family out.  
Tim and I stayed behind and waited. Dad got up like a shot and looked at the clock as what must have been a horrible realization dawned on him by his expression. "Bloody hell!" he wailed before a look of sheer panicked washed over him. He spun around in a frantic circle before whatever cause had spooked him subsided and left only a look of forlorn.  
Dad walked thusly all the way to town. Dejected-like and eyes downcast at his feet, trailing behind, hands in his pockets. I eventually passed Tim off to Peter so that I could inquire after dad. "Whats the matter?" I asked cocking my head to try and meet his gaze as we walked. "Shh, don't make a ruckus, I do not wish to disturb your mother or the others, at least not yet. After all they are still so appy from yesterday." Something was terribly amiss, I knew, dad had always been straight with me this way, with serious matters.  
My father then relayed to me the terms in which he had gotten the previous day off. That he was to be at the counting house at 9:00 and when he had woken it was 9:05. Father was sure right then that he was going to get the sack. He said to me as he pressed my hand against the crook of his arm "Martha, I know this is a heavy burden I ask you to bare my love but do not let on to your mother. When we get to town I will break away so that I might get it over with. If anyone asks say I met up with some chums for a drink. I can tell them tomorrow."  
I made the promise with a somber nod and he kissed my temple. And indeed the knowledge was a heavy cross to bare. It was 9:15 by the time we got to town and father skidded off. There was no hope, not even if he begged. Yet I acted merry and natural with my family for his sake as mum showed us off. Smiling when people remarked on my broach, saying "lord that must have cost a fortune!" it was a heavy, heavy reminder that we would soon have nothing. In fact, the broach itself seemed to get heavier and heavier with each passing remark.  
When we all finally went our separate was I unpinned the delicate trinket and cradled it in my hand, feeling its full weight. It was the only thing I had that I could truly call mine. It was my dowry and my livelihood. Some kind, kind stranger had thought of me as worthy enough to bestow a gift on me. I sighed as I thought of what it meant to me and then I thought of Tim and how sick he was, and what a handsome some of money a broach like this would fetch. Maybe even enough to survive a month of unemployment.  
The jeweler confirmed this when I presented the broach to him, but would not take it back because the like of me had tainted it somehow. He turned me away and I only had one other option.  
I walked into the counting house with tentative steps, rotating my broach in my hand as if to try to commit the feel of the diamonds to memory somehow. My heart felt numb when I heard the bell above the door announce me and I did not see my father which only confirmed my biggest fear, he was sacked for being late.  
Life felt almost cruel to me; that the jeweler would not take the broach back and I had to give it up to the man who had already taken so much and try and be tactful so that the family name may at least maintain pride.  
I sat down in one of the waiting chairs that was against the far left wall which was at such an angle that I could partly see into Mr. Scrooge's office. I heard rustling and the sickening chink of money. "Be with you in a minute, whoever it is!" he called. In the moments to come which felt like hours the door felt like it was miles away, as his footsteps drew nearer my stomach lurched so that I bounded upwards as if my body had its own agenda to see its self out the front door before Scrooge could see himself into the front office. There had to be another way to get cash value for the broach, there had to.  
"I know you!" his voice suddenly stilted me in the act of opening the door. It was too late, I was done for. "You're the merciless imp I met at the milliners yesterday!"  
"Yes, and I am sorry." I turned slightly and nodded to confirm, biting at the irony that he would call me merciless! He spoke again, no tremor or emotion in his voice. "Well come in then. Tell me what you want."  
I turned myself all the way around and my breath hitched, there was something remarkably different about the man who stood at the counter before me; more pigmented, he stood straighter, better groomed, this man looked almost young but I still marked coldness. I approached the counter with shallow breath, had I held the broach any tighter I think it might have left an imprint upon my hand. I held it out to him. "Can you appraise this?" I ask, fighting back a sob and swallowing it hard. "Please."  
He looked at the diamonds as if uninterested. "You wish me to appraise this broach to sell?" he questioned taking it from me to examine it with a magnified glass, my soul felt hollow. "Yes."  
"Where did you steal it from?" he accused ever so calmly. My passions were stirred and I lunged to grab it away from him in a fit of insult. "What? How dare you!" I cried. "I didnt! I would never!" he now eyed me as if I were the thing he were appraising with an arched-eyebrow and what? Was that a hint of a smile I saw? "It was a gift!" I finally conclude evenly, putting myself back in my place. "I received it yesterday."  
Mr. Scrooge took a small turn around the office as he still examined the broach. "And it does not suit ye? Shame really, it is such a pretty bauble. Shaped like a snowflake I think. But in my day young ladies seemed to drool over pretty things." He eyes me again. "You do not like pretty things, Emma?"  
I was stern in my next reply not wanting to play these torturous games. "My name is Martha sir and I like pretty things as well as any other woman rich or poor and I adore this broach more than I could possibly express or at least more than I feel you would care to hear me express, but I will have the memory of the kind thoughtfulness placed behind it, and I feel that the money will benefit my family much more than my vanity. In short, I ask only for the true value of the broach, no more than that."  
"No less either I imagine?" he cocked an eyebrow and I felt once more irritated by what he seemed to be implying. "Sir, do not think that because me clothes are tattered and that I do not speak as well as you that I am any less sensible at arithmetic. I am a clerk after all and I did go to the jeweler before I come. He told me what the price was though he would not take it back, therefore I will know if you cheat me! Can you please appraise this so that I may leave? I fear my father has lost his situation due to a miserly employer, I wish to be there to comfort him."  
"Lost his situation?" he seemed puzzled but then straightened. "So that's what this is about!" He snorted at this and then placed his hands on the counter, speaking very fast. "Well, I suppose you think you are very clever missy? Very clever indeed and my lord are you always this passionate when speaking? I would think it would be exhausting to have such vigor between today and yesterday. So chatty with lengthy explanations. No matter, how much did the jeweler tell you it was worth?"  
I relayed the information I received to him and his eyes grew surprisingly large. "And you believed him?" he asked. All I could do was nod. Mr. Scrooge seemed to get a trifle mift. "I'm sure you can find another jeweler Mr. Scrooge that would give you twice that." I tried to assure him. But he ignored me and what occurred next astonished me. "I would thank my lucky stars that he did not trade it back! He would have swindled you terribly my dear! I did not pay even half that much, though I would for you to have it."  
I must have stumbled back a bit with my shock and my hand flew up to me heart. He smiled; a kind genuine smile, no coldness. Now it were truly as if I were looking upon a stranger. My mouth hung slack and he laughed coming around the counter placing the broach back in my hand. "That's right Martha Cratchit, the gifts, the turkey, all of it was from myself. Christmas gifts to a deserving employee and his family from an admirer and hopeful friend." He then took my free hand and gave it a kiss before cradling it in both of his. "Ooh your hands are so cold my dear! Perhaps I should have bought mittens for all of you as well! I think I shall!" he chuckled and I was speechless, as he led me to the shop fire to get warm. "You shall never have to pawn anything of yours to provide for your family! I will take care of it, all of it!" I stared up at him in disbelief. I went to say something when the door opened again and in stepped my father.  
"Ah Martha my darling, Mr. Scrooge has told you the good news then?" I then looked between the two men who smiled at me questioningly. "What? That he has gone mad? Yes, I think we were getting round to that!" I gawked stepping away from my father's employer. They both laughed as my dad took me by the shoulders. "No my love, I am a partner in this firm now, my wages raised and all. I just went to tell your mother and the others. When I saw you in the window here I would have thought Mr. Scrooge would have told you." I shook my head, still feeling as if I had stepped through the looking glass. "Ave you gone round the bend too father?" I ask caressing his cheek concernedly.  
"No my dear, your father speaks in earnest. This firm hence fourth will be known as Scrooge and Cratchit." Mr. Scrooge admitted. "And with the money we make we plan to make your brother well."  
My eyes filled with tears and I touched my burning cheek. "Bless me, do I dream this?" my father shook his head with a smile, without any warning or conscious thought I threw myself into Mr. Scrooge's arms and whispered through my tears. "Thank you! Thank you so much! Bless ye, God bless you Mr. Scrooge! God bless you!" I then pulled away, for a moment he held my hands in his before he and my father shook hands. Everything changed after that, everything.


	3. Chapter 3

Christmas Eve a year later…

I never again heard that voice to "look after him" whoever "he" was, nor did I have strange dreams again. Whatever duty had been set upon me; I **reasoned** , must have been satisfied somehow beyond my knowledge.  
The standard Cratchit lifestyle had undergone such a metamorphosis that it was nearly unrecognizable. We had the same values and the same love for one another yes, but outside of that we had blossomed. Mum was now recognized in some of the most distinguished parlors and sitting rooms of London as terribly good company and a terrible gossip. It were as if she were born to have a gaudy lifestyle and be married to an esteemed banker, never mind that both were born as poor as church mice. Oh no, once Tim was well and out of the clear mum ostracized herself to that prier life. I think it bothered dad a little, but seeing her happy and plump as a partridge it made him happy too.  
Peter had acquired a position that was twice as good as what dad had ever had in mind for his heir. Thanks to Fred Milark (Scrooge's nephew) and Andrew Topper (a friend of Fred) Peter was set to be a member of parliament one day and was currently wooing a debutante by the name of St. Clare.  
As for Mathew, Lucy and Tim, they were enrolled in **school** now and would be very glad for a break from their studies. Tim had many friends now and was as energetic as any lad his age. He only used his crutch when he was very tired or had a great distance to travel. Oh, but there was one thing he loved above all else and that was his dear Ebenezer. Thick as thieves those two. It were as if Mr. Scrooge could somehow meet with Tim on his own level. He did not seem a man of 42 at all but a child trapped inside an adult. In fact, he seemed rather bored unless he was talking to Tim, both based most of their decisions on what the other might be proud of. It made me laugh how much Tim wanted to emulate Mr. Scrooge, it near made dad jealous.  
I saw quite a bit of Mr. Scrooge myself. It was not a month or two after that Christmas that he (as Belinda would put it) whisk me away from Mrs. Hogan so that I might be my own mistress in my own hat shop. He set me up in a vacant building right across from the counting house and took some of his luncheons with me in his standard tavern to show me the art of keeping books and making money. We would pour over books and ledgers and talk for hours past our lunch time which made none of our employees very happy or productive, but we paid them well. Then we walked **back** to our respected work places side by side laughing, as if we had done so all of our lives. He was natural with people and with me. very much a **changed man**.  
And oh, what a fine and pretty shop I had. Like something out of a dream. Pink with dark stained wood, very warm and very cozy. Roses, roses everywhere like a garden and some of the finest and kindest, not to mention diligent workers in London. Edna had stayed on with me while Nan had up and married so we hired a new girl by name of Kathy, what a sweet thing she was, like a lark and good at bonnets too. Belinda of course, had taken to be my apprentice as she had done most of her life, but to be honest; she had more of a nag for stern leadership than I and sometimes had to remind me to take the reins when prices were too low or Kathy was making eyes at the delivery boy instead of working.  
"That'll be six shillings Mrs. Prowl." I say with a smile as we make the exchange. Mrs. Prowl lifts the pretty box lid and wiggles her fingers in pure delight. "Tis a true work of art Ms. Cratchit." she beams. I pear in, looking down in the box upon tiptoe to see which way the ribbon was creased. "Edna did that one mam." I exclaim. "If you are satisfied with her work I can jot it down so you can always ave your hats done by her."  
"Yes, very well. Thank you. This is a gift for my sister." She informs me as I made good on my word and write Edna's name next to Mrs. Prowls and the date in my little **log** book, I liked to keep personal notes on all my clientele. "Well, I hope she likes it." I giggle dotting my eye before looking up again. "If there is any adjustments needed or rips need mending in the future bring it back and I will see to it myself, no charge. Your family is ours." At this Mrs. Prowl thanks me and bids me a happy Christmas and I am on to the next customer handing out boxes.

"Mrs. Ratts, do tell your husband to be more careful, soon there will be no more hat left to mend! God bless you, Happy Christmas."

"Mr. Poe how is your wife liking her new lap dog?"

"Mr. Green I will be with you in a moment, I wish to hear all about the children!"

Mr. Green and I complete the transaction and he remarks how busy my shop was and that he had heard that I had the privilege of serving a duke and earl early in the year, I confirmed with a light tale about each and then Mr. Green stopped to admire a top hat resting on a bust at the back of the store. "How much is that derby there? The one with the holly and red ribbon and fur round the middle." I look back at the exact hat he was referring too, the ridiculously lavish one and smiled proudly. "Do you like it Mr. Green?" I ask bunching up my shoulders in excitement and lowering my voice. "Its for Mr. Scrooge! He asked me to make him a festive hat for his ball tonight, but nothing too outlandish of course. Three months in the making, I just finished today."  
Mr. Green let out a roar of a laugh grabbing his sides. "Bless me, he will look right jolly in it!"  
I chuckle too. "That is the idea!" we then shake hands and I begin to **close** up shop when he departs. I have the girls line up, hand them their pay and their bonuses and send them off to their families with a hug. I had Belinda go ahead to help mother put the last touches on our party gowns. I walked briskly from my shop into the streets with a warm cape draped about my shoulders and friendly greetings, far from where I had been a year before and yet, not completely…

"Show! show! buy a ticket to the Christmas show" the sound of Tom's lustrous voice still sent chills up my spine as he sung in time with the little silver bell in his hand. He was walking up the opposite side of the street with a sign round his neck and a few female performers behind him. Tom was as poor as ever. He had too much pride to accept any charity from Mr. Scrooge, he was even skittish when I presented my own money, almost half insulted that I as a milliner was more prosperous than him as a tavern actor and soup seller. Because of this, we were still not yet married. Tom wanted to be married on his own dime good and proper. I begged him and pleaded for alternatives; that he might owe the money for a small wedding like a debt; I told him we didn't even need a church, that I would marry him on the docks by a willing sea captain but his pride would not allow it. I loved him no less.  
I quickly slipped off the engagement ring I had bought myself into the folds of my dress and went bolting towards him. "Tom!" I went into his arms, grabbed his cheeks and kissed him heartily. When he pulls away he blinks a few times as if I were a stranger and I laugh. It clicks in his head and I help him off with the sign. "Ah Martha, I don't recognize ye when you put on heirs." He looks around almost nervously. I laugh again. "These are my day clothes you silly bub, and you do not recognize me because you are always working my dear sweetheart." I caress the ebony skin of his cheek with longing and look into his dark eyes, yet still he looks at the onlookers. "I went to the theatre yesterday to drop off your suit for tonight but you were not there-"  
"Tonight?" he gawks. "Oy then, whats tonight?"  
"Mr. Scrooge's ball. It is the first Christmas Eve that neither of us works. You promised me we would be together."  
Again he casts his eyes to his other performer friends who almost looked scornful as the scene ensued, but my eyes still bore into his. After a moment, he smiles and then nods with a laugh. "Yeah, yeah I'll be there." I smile and we kiss again.

It was a new home I returned too, a bigger one but not an estate by any means but much bigger than we ever had. The sound of the door shutting behind me and the sound of piano music and middle-aged women chattering away like monkeys in a zoo was a blessed sound to my ears. Mum was entertaining again which meant I had Tim to myself.  
I made my way up the stairs to the room we had dedicated to toys and books many of which were a gifts from Mr. Scrooge. I found the room in disarray and empty and I shook my head and laughed. I knelt down by a sprawled book on the floor and picked it up tenderly and after a moment read aloud in spite of thinking I was alone. "Dear, brave Robinson Crusoe." I mused with a smile, getting to my feet to put the book away, unaware of the eyes that watched me secretly from the doorway.  
"The impish Emma, home at last I see." His voice had a gentle laugh to it and I turned to face him with a welcomed smile. "Impish?" I retorted placing my hands on my hips. "As I recall you did not think me impish last night when you joined us for dinner and I served you desert first." I tease him. He stood tall and broad shouldered in his handsomest dress. Tim was not far behind him. Mr. Scrooge shrugged. "That dessert did not suit me. it was not sweet enough. I found the girl serving it much sweeter." He countered and I blushed slightly before my brother squeezed by him dejectedly. "Tim?" I questioned kneeling down in concern. "What is the matter love? You look as if the world fell upon you." I cup his face. Mr. Scrooge chuckled then and clasped my brothers shoulders. "Oh the lad is alright! It is just that Sharon Holmwood kissed him in the schoolyard today and he is a bit shaken up by it."  
I gasp half laughing, Tim had a little crush on his schoolmate, we knew by how frequently he claimed to dislike her. "Sharon Holmwood." I say in mock surprise. "She is very pretty I hear."  
"She is not!" Tim moans. "I find girls utterly repulsive Martha, and she is the worst and now I have cooties because she kissed me!" he pouted and I stove off a giggle as I adjusted his collar. "I thought the same of boys when I was young." I mused. "You ought not think girls too repulsive Tim; mum is a girl, Belinda is a girl, Lucy is a girl and I am a girl, do you think us repulsive?"  
"No."  
I then cast a glance up at his idol. "And Mr. Scrooge I am sure does not find girls or ladies repulsive, do you Mr. Scrooge?" I raise an eyebrow. Mr. Scrooge goes to speak but Tim cuts him off with a gleam. "No! he said that girls are lovely creatures and that I should take for example my oldest sister Martha who he finds particularly charming and lovely! Isn't that so Ebenezer?"  
At this Mr. Scrooge's ears turned a shade of scarlet that rivaled any holly berry. He gave Tim a light bat on the back of the head and I could not hide my smile. "I believe Timothy Cratchit that I gave you a long list of females that I admire, such as your mother, and my niece Joan Milark, and Mrs. Smit the butcher's widow and Jane the seamstress."

"But you said Martha most of all!" before anymore damage could be done I rose and took my dear, flustered friend by the shoulders with a grin. "I am honored to be held in such high regards Mr. Scrooge and I thank you." Standing on my toes, I give his cheek a light kiss in lieu of the mistletoe above the door frame before starting towards my own room. "Your hat is in the hall, hope you like it! I must get ready now. Happy Christmas." I smile and he watched me go, just as my mum and her party come up the stairs. One of the ladies Evelyn Notworth a widow with much dowry, immediately took note of the mistletoe and flittered about almost as bad as Mrs. Hogan did a Christmas ago. "Oh Ebenezer you wicked little man, I hope you were not waiting for me long under that sprig!" and soon all the other ladies joined in, and why not? He was the most eligible, charitable and kind man in London.


	4. Chapter 4

The cough I gave was rattling like deep from the chest and came with a shutter immediately afterward. Mine and Belinda's room felt slightly warmer then it ought and my hands slightly cold. We were getting ready for the ball; the girls in one room and the boys in another. Our room was an array of underskirts and corsets that were to go under dresses of the finest greens and reds, minus mother who was wearing a gown golden as a church bell.

It was fair to reason that dad; being the party of Cratchit in the establishment of "Scrooge & Cratchit" was already at the counting house waiting to greet the early guests with Mr. Scrooge. But make no mistake that mum had a better handle on the household on her own than a captain had over his ship.

"Now!" she started. "I want you all to be on your best behaviors, it's a full shop tonight and there will be a lot of clients of your father's and sister and I want them all to see that this family is in shipshape." She then proceeded to stick pins in her mouth as she saw to putting up Belinda's hair as Lucy helped fasten the buttons under the lace of my sleeves.

"Did you hear that Mr. Scrooge went to see the jeweler a week ago?" Belinda started fueling mum with new gossip as ribbons were being woven into her braids. "That's not surprising." I say. "He was probably inquiring after a necklace for his niece Joan. that's all."

"That would be so, if the jeweler's wife had not told me first hand that he was seeking out an engagement ring and left with one in his pocket!" she announced and mum and Lucy gasped. Mum started to go on then. "That's all we need is another banker's wife gallivanting around and kicking her nickers up! Flaunting money!"

Lucy crawled to the edge of the bed and tugged at my dress excitedly. "You know Mr. S well Martha, who do you think it is?"

I let a small smile tug at my lips despite I felt another heated chill coming on. "It will be for Nora Ashton." I say contently thinking of the lady as our fire crackles in the room. "He has been in pursuit of her since a week before he purchased the milliner shop." I then take to sitting down on the bed myself as my legs begun to buckle, yet I continued. "She is a friend of his former love Belle, I have made her acquaintance several times; she is remarkably beautiful and remarkably kind." There was another involuntary shutter.

At this mum turned and slowly walked over to cup my face. "You do not look well." She stated. "I am simply tired." I reply looking up into her concerned eyes. "I have worked long hours lately, I think it has caught up to me."

Belinda turned in her seat too. "Is it any wonder." She scoff. "You ardly ever stop! Are you sure you should go tonight?"

"Yes." I pause to think as my head lolled to rest on the bed post a thought comes racing to my mind, how would Mr. Scrooge having a wife effect my time with him? My dearest friend. Our luncheons would lessen and his suppers spent in our home decreased. He would have a wife to talk to now and I was pretty stable in my business. The thought made me happy and very sad; he had become to me as second nature as my own heartbeat, as if another limb to my body, I would miss him, he would come to see Tim, but I was prone to think that our relationship would change somehow and I would miss him. "Yes, I must go. I wouldn't miss this ball for anything." My lips parted slightly, I then shake my head to snap myself out of my daze. "Besides, My dear Tom is coming! I will bring my shawl and my fan. These are simply bouts of heat and chill." I then reach my hand out to ruffle Lucy's hair. "Nothing that a Cratchit cannot handle."

And with that Peter, Mathew and Tim knocked and entered. They remarked on our gowns before offering their arms to the sister that mum had paired them with. Peter was not happy that he had been paired with me instead of chaperoning St. Clare and having to wait until we got to the ball to see her, I had to remind him that he could leave me as soon as we entered the counting house because my own date was meeting me there as well. A handsome cab was sent for us.

When we arrived the counting house was simply glowing, even from outside in the cold snow. It was already alive inside everything that could be wrapped in garland was and a towering tree sparkled in the corner, guests begun to mingle and dance, radiating such warmth that it automatically touched the onlookers who passed, even the airy music seemed to drift like spirits through the walls. And there was Mr. Scrooge in the middle of it all. What a happy man! He seemed to feed off of the joy of others and looked younger and younger with it. He held his glass up high in toast with a broad smile; he was not handsome, except when he smiled. My dad strutting down the steps to meet the coach without stretched arms pulled my eyes away. "Here they are! Here are my darlings!" he cried, kissing each child on the head as he helped them out of the cab. Tim was the first to try and bolt in but dad had to call him back holding up his crutch as a reminder. "Try not to tire to quickly me boy!"

"I won't"

I kept my eyes trained on the dancers inside, even as father kissed me hello, I had the strangest feeling that I had seen this scene before, heard this song; as if in a dream. No not a dream, the dream.

"Fezziwig." I whispered to the icy winds.

Just then, another cab carrying two ladies came in behind us and one of them sang out to us "Yoo-woo Cratchits! What ho! Yoo-hoo!" It was Mrs. Belle and Mrs. Nora Ashton. Their driver helped them down. Mrs. Belle and Mrs. Nora were perhaps two of the most beautiful women in London. They both had settled into their 40s flawlessly. Mrs. Belle had a heart-shaped face with hauntingly blue, round eyes and gold locks that had hints of silver, but its value no less decreased as when it was solid gold when my friend had loved her so. She was a wife and mother now to many children who bared her exquisite likeness. And Mrs. Nora! She was exotic; pale and lovely and very European. She had hair black as soot that was put up very fashionably, framing her creamy face and small lips. Her gown was elegant and dripping with jewels; her first two husbands had been creditors and bankers also. Mrs. Belle ran happily to meet us and I was glad to receive her. she and I had tea a few times when I was first learning how to keep books and I loved her company. 'Here is the protégé now! In Mr. Scrooge's own words the girl with a head for business and a heart for a family! You know that he nearly wanted to put your father in a milliner shop and hired you on as clerk." Mrs. Belle laughed, but seeing the slight disappointment of my father rubbed his arm. "Oh Mr. Cratchit you know I only tease, dear Ebenezer would not trade clerks for the world!"

Then I greeted Mrs. Ashton next. When her lips met my cheek she drew back in surprise and felt my forehead. "Heavens girl, you are as warm as can be. Are you ill?"

"No, no I'm fine." I say through a smile though I felt worse and worse by the minute. "No matter!" she returned linking my arm in hers. "We will walk in as sisters! I must say I am quite nervous tonight." She begun to lead me inside. My heart skipped a beat. "He asked you then? Mr. Scrooge I mean."

"Yes! This afternoon!" she twittered. "I was quite set upon!"

"What did you say?" I asked rather more animatedly than I had meant, my heart suddenly in my throat.

"My dear girl, Mr. Scrooge was so insistent that I say yes, that it would have been rude to say no."

I do not know what I was expecting but my heart fell back into its place heavily. Why hadn't he told me first hand? Or Tim? We told each other everything. And why was I so upset and heavy hearted, when I should be rejoicing that such a man had found someone he deemed worthy of his heart. "I am so glad for you." I said, just as Mr. Scrooge approached us after greeting Mrs. Belle and her husband. "Shouldn't you be atop the tree Mrs. Ashton?" he asked and she giggled. Then he turned to me. "And you my little pixie, let me look at you!" he took my hands and spun me round examining the red velvet gown and my brooch of course pinned in view. When we were eye to eye again he held my hands close to him. "My God Martha, you are exquisite!" he kissed my hand. Something like a pang shot across my heart. Why hadn't he told me?

I was about to say something when a voice called me away. It was Edna and to my surprise Nan and her new baby son who I had not yet met. Mr. Scrooge nodded to me and I knew he had invited her to especially surprise me. with half a laugh I went over to them and fond over the new babe. I take him eagerly when Nan offers and play with his little hands as his mother and I babble to catch up with lost time. "I had such a time prying him away from Mr. S I did. He was so natural with little Toby. A born father that one and who ave thought. Just a year ago we was wishing wicked Mrs. Hogan on him!"

A lot can transpire in a year… when I looked back behind me Nora Ashton had swept our host under the mistletoe and was kissing him tenderly. I wished desperately that Tom were at my side…

Hours went by. And I had become so feverishly ill that I swore I could feel the earth turn round. My cheeks were heated and my gown felt twice its weight. I felt pale and felt like fainting. And I felt alone as Nora and Mr. Scrooge led the dances as top couple and Tom was nowhere to be found. I felt seasick as colors seemed to blur my sight. I sat on the window seat, trying to chat with Joan Milark, trying to look alert. It was only when I saw one of the performers from the tavern braving the weather outside that I stirred and went out.

;

"Not coming?" I questioned, gripping the baluster. "But he promised me!"

The performer only drew heavily on his pipe and then gagged. "Sorry love, he says to tell you maybe, New Years but not tonight, awfully busy." I could almost feel the lie that laced the last remark.

"Then I will go to him-"

"No, no your lot is ere he says!" retorts the man before turning to go, while I might add scratching his rump. "Appy Christmas."

"Happy." I repeated silently, sitting upon the railing. There had been nothing happy about this day. My lot? How could this be my lot when I had been so torn this past year between two very different worlds and neither seemed to fit me. Suddenly I was numb to the cold and I watched almost dazed as the snow seemed to dance in swirls,, the warm candlelight from the window reflecting their waltz. I held fast to the baluster as my lip trembled, by now, almost delusional from illness and pain. I could hear the rattle of chains, horrible, horrible chains…

"Martha?" I gasped at the voice who had suddenly put life back into me and turned my head. He stood there, looking at me with soft blue-grey eyes shutting the door behind him. He smiled at me which made him handsome. "Ebenezer." The word comes out without my even knowing it, I am still very dazed.

"I thought you had left." He says this coming outside, looking relieved. "Joan had told me you had." His voice is soft, sweet like a melting candle. The drifts of snow catch my eye again. "Look at the snow Ebenezer." I muse absentmindedly, in my right mind I would have never addressed him so informal. "Look how white it is, like little ghosts.…Spirits." My lips part again. I feel as if I am going to faint but he catches me, gently, round the waist. When I adjust myself I find him looking into my eyes and something wet rolling down my cheek, as he touches my hair that hangs on my cheek. "Friendly spirits.…"

"Oh my darling, you are shivering." He then presses his cheek to mine and presses me close. "And you are so very warm." I put him back with all my strength which was very little at all. "I know about the engagement. Mrs. Nora Ashton told me-"

He looks almost disappointed at this. "Did she?" he asked. "I had hoped I would have been the one to-" he abandons the thoughts shaking his head. "Oh never mind. I suppose now that it is out all that matters is what you think of it?"

I manage a smile. "I think it is wonderful. I could not be happier!" I had been lolling my head forward so much that my forehead almost rests against his chest, I could almost feel his heartbeat, my fists gently clutching to his coat.

"Oh Emma! Martha!" he sighs and I can feel his chin against my hair. "I will burst from happiness-"

"And you bought the ring- you bought the ring a week ago? That is- that is what Belinda said." I struggle to look up and mark a look of tenderness before I turn my head and begin to cough violently as my body almost crumbles beneath me. He is the only thing holding me up. "We need to get you inside. We can discuss this later love."

I cup his face in my hands half crying and half laughing as he brings us slowly to the ground, cradling me like a child. "No-no-no." then I smile. "No, I wish to talk about it now. Right now. You have changed so much Ebenezer-so much…" I then look over his shoulder and see a woman in white, all white glowing, hovering there and staring at me, she does not speak but I know that hers is the voice from my dreams. She is beautiful. Without words she tells me that her name is Fan. And she tells me to close my heavy eyes. I begin to obey, coughing again. "Martha! Martha! Dear God do not leave me! Martha!" he shakes me hard and I speak again. "She is so proud of you. Fan is so proud of you."

He then scoops me up as if I weigh nothing at all and hurries me inside, the lady in white drifting behind us, silently, calmly, patiently. "Bob! Emily! Come quick!" Mr. Scrooge announces followed by an array of gasps. "Clear away everyone! Fred fetch a doctor quickly!"

"Martha!" I hear Tim wail fighting to get to me. Everything is commotion. Everything is ruckus and noise, except for the lady in white…except for Fan. I study her and study her. "The time has come to leave with me, Ms. Cratchit." She says, so hushed, so still, so welcoming.

"Martha stay with me! My God! Stay with me don't leave me!" the words become fainter and fainter, until…

Nothingness. Oblivion.

 **I know this is sad but I have a point to this I swear! I want Fan as a main player to show what has happened in the last year to lead up to this point. : if you have seen Jane Austin's Sense and Sensibility you will mark a similarity between Marianne and Martha. Also Colonel Brandon who is played movingly by Alan Rickman who I think would be a great Scrooge also Man this is a whole new world to me in writting...going backwards**

 **this clip is not that version but it sums up what sort of things you can expect**  
 **/5Re5CNBq8vA**

 **and yes she did hear Marley's chains too**

10 25 50 100 Nested Threaded Flat Oldest First Newest First


	5. Chapter 5

There was a bright, bright light. The sound of running water, like a pond or waterfall. Birds. Woodland creatures too. All was gentle, all was mild It was bright and yet I could see everything perfectly. Everything was painted in precious pastels and had halos of a soft glow around it. There was a wooden swing tied to an oak with great garlands of flowers as ropes and a small table set for tea not far from it. There sat Fan pouring tea. "Do you like this garden, Ms. Cratchit?" she asked. "I do."  
I looked at the vibrant green grass, the trickling stream and rainbows of flowers and was mesmerized. Aside from the sea it was probably the most beautiful site I had ever seen in my life- no, it was the most beautiful thing I had seen and ever would see It had every flower imaginable, including a pathway in the middle of the giant yard lined with blossom trees, one of my mum's favorites. The scent coming from each flower was so sweet it nearly gave me a headache, leaving me on some sort of beautiful euphoria that I did not want to come down from. I stepped closer to her, my hair down completely and blowing in a light breeze that seemed to derive from nowhere. I was in a white muslin gown, and what I could only assume the angel before me wore the same. She spoke again, with a gentle turn of the head. "Will you sit down Ms. Cratchit? Or will you take a turn on the swing?"  
She seemed so calm, as if such a meeting between us was a normal occurrence. I dared to speak though the words didn't come easy. "Am I in Heaven?" I played with my fingers childishly.  
"In a way, yes."  
"I am dead then?" I asked.  
Fan shifted her eyes to me. "No but you are on your way." Her eyes shifted again to the tables face which billowed into a white mist and then parted into a scene of my bedroom and I could see a glimpse of myself asleep surrounded by my family and a doctor. "If you come closer you can see that you are very ill."  
I spoke calmer than I expected. "I would, but you can understand Miss that I wish not to see my family in pain." I then took a slow steady seat on the swing and folded my hands.  
"You are very calm." Marked the angel. "Why is this?"  
I took in a slow breath as a fawn slowly made its way towards me and nuzzled my hands until I petted it. "I really don't know." I answer honestly, looking down at the fawn. "I should not be, normally my passions are stirred easily. But I suppose I am just so honored to be here."  
"You doubted?" asked Ms. Fan pursing her lips on her teacup, she had a soft round face with delicate features, but I marked quite happily that she had the same blue eyes as her brother.  
I blushed slightly, as if I felt foolish. "I am- or rather I was only 24 years young Miss, I did not take much time to think on my own mortality." I then look back up at her. "I suppose I am just glad it is to be me and not someone else I love, like me brother Tim. I have had a full life and I do not have many regrets." The tan fawn then rested its head upon my lap, ears twitching softly.  
Fan held out her hand and motioned to the seat across from her which I took, inwardly shocked at my own acceptance of all this. "I was 24 also when I passed." She told me. "Did Ebenezer tell you this?"  
I nod.  
"But I had a new baby son and I did not see my brother ever truly happy and in love; I felt very much cheated." She says not harshly, but as a matter of fact and then she eyes me. "You do not feel cheated my dear?"  
I felt like a long time had passed before I replied. "No, not really; my family is all well, happy. I… would have liked to have married Tom." I say the last part almost too casually even for my own liking. "but our engagement was beginning to feel like a bad game of ring-around-the-rosy or blind man's bluff, never a right time or place you know. I feel like he will be the better for it."  
Fan arches an eyebrow and leant forward. "Is there no one or nothing else you will miss?"  
I could think of nothing…. "No."  
She reclines back again clicking her tongue and taking another sip of tea. I look up suddenly as an idea hits me. "There is one thing." I say. "I had a dream last Christmas Eve about a little boy and man. I never could figure out who it was."  
At this the angel laughs a soft chime of a laugh and shakes her head. "Silly Martha, I would have thought with all the times that you and Ebby had talked you would have pieced it together." I look at her strangely and she laughs even more.  
"Do you mock me?" I ask.  
"Oh no, no." she beams and I frown. She sets down her cup and looks at me head on. "Why, that was the life of my dear brother that you beheld." It was my turn to cock an eyebrow now. "But why was I privy to it and privy to it still even now?"

"Because that is how I wanted it to be Martha." This statement astounds me! I gawk and gape. Had she arranged the dream somehow? Was that even possible?  
"You lost breath for a few seconds that night in the milliners' shop. Only a few seconds mind you, but in spirit time it was long enough to link my soul to yours and go to my brother in a form not quite familiar to him. You see, if I went as myself it would have been more of a reunion than a lesson."  
This somehow bothered me more than anything else. It was insanity to think that had been more than a dream but a dream shared and remembered by two living, breathing parties. I shot up from my seat my passions stirred. "How can that be? I never asked for such a responsibility; to be part of a man's redemption!"  
"But you did ask!" retorted Fan evenly. "You asked yourself what had made him what he was." she took another calm sip of tea. "You asked your inner most heart and received an answer, and so my moral served as two lessons." She sounded rather proud of herself at this and I made myself sit back down, uneasy. "You know." I started. "Anyone who met him on the street would have asked the same. How could they not! He was a Krampus, a juggernaut!" and then a great sadness washed over me as I now recounted each of his memories painfully clear. "The look on his face…" I mused allowed touching my cheek. "It was so awful to behold. So awful…" I trailed off and then snapped my head back to attention when I heard her spoon clinking against the side of her teacup.  
"You are quite the puzzle Ms. Cratchit." Fan sighed tiredly with a shrug. "One moment you call my brother a juggernaut and the next you look as if you are inclined to weep for him." She was patient as I stared at her. she was waiting for me to relent to something, but what? She lifted her head. "I mark well by the tears you refuse to acknowledge that are upon your cheek that you think him a juggernaut no more and care for him a great deal." Her tone was soft and I finally blinked before gliding my tears away with my fingers. "It was a heavy cross to bear!" I responded. "And I do not see why it had to be me, Surely, there were others better suited for the task."  
"Do you in earnest not see?" she asked. "Or do you refuse to see?" she stood then and offered me her arm as the blossom trees begun to bend. "Come." She said. "You are beginning to fade more swiftly on earth, we may go deeper into Heaven and walk and talk."  
I must confess that the awful curiosity of what she had been saying before tended to overshadow what she had just implied. And so, I took her arm and let her willingly lead me on. Onto the gravel path that still showed a beautiful expanse of landscape. However, the odd thing was whatever ground we had covered seemed to disappear and fade away into mist as we walked away from it. "You see, I needed an onlooker who had an idea of what the events were without being bias, or so immediately involved that my brother would easily shun the spirit or recognize them. And you an Ebenezer have silently crossed paths a great many times."  
I blinked at this as it was beginning to make even less sense than when we had begun. "But how can that be?" I ask. "He is near 18 years my senior! How could our paths have crossed? Much less be parallel enough to accomplish what you are implying!"  
"I told you, it did not need to be directly."  
"I still do not understand." At this she release my arm, stopping abruptly and stepping away from me slowly and with parted lips as I knew something great and vast was about to occur. "How one forgets." She shakes her head disappointingly, as mist begins to shroud over everything in sight. "Perhaps if we comb through your own past you will see just how parallel your two worlds are."

 **I hope this makes sense... I really stepped out of my comfort zone with this fanfic...but I find-it oddly intriguing. In all the movie's I've watched the Ghost of Christmas past had always been a girl or lady and the** **musical** **introduced me to the idea that the spirits had been somewhere he had- bumped into in passing so I thought why not have Fan have a hand in it somehow... now we will see just how far the Cratchits** **Scroog** **go back ... this fanfic is either a stroke of genius or pure Mary-Sue insanity. I haven't decided yet**


	6. Chapter 6

The fog lifted and cleared easily on a solitary schoolyard that was blanketed with snow. There was a wood fence leading to it. It was not a fine school by any means. It was purely brick that was somewhat crumbling, yet the steeple stood tall with a golden bell. I did not hear snow crunch beneath my feet when I stepped forth nor did I see my breath, I was purely in this scene in spirit.  
The door to the school cracked open slightly and I squinted half expecting one of my younger brothers or sister to coming running out and run towards me, for this was the school that Mr. Scrooge had insisted they attend, but instead a young boy stepped out hesitantly with a letter in hand. He looked from side to side as if to examine his surroundings. He could have been no more than twelve years old with raven black hair and blue-grey eyes, a tiny mouth and a very skinny figure that led one to believe that he was underfed and somewhat sickly. It was then that I felt the presence of Fan behind me.  
"Do you know this boy?" she asks in her gentle voice as we watched the boy's little chest heave as he gripped the railing to descend the steps. I had an idea who the boy was, but I could not be sure… Two other boys came onto the scene hiding behind some bushes with a glint of malevolence in their eyes that left me with a horrible feeling of foreboding. "Oh no." I said aloud just as the small boy from the schoolhouse begun to run for the road. "Run boy, run!" I cried involuntarily.  
The two antagonists sprang into action when their prey was half up the road and bombarded him furiously, tackling him down to the snow. The boy kicked and screamed and cried as the bigger of the two boys managed to pin his arms behind his back, dragging him away a small distance from any view of any of the schoolhouse windows and the other boy smashed him square in the mouth with a tight fist. "Shut your bleedin mouth Ebenezer! Less you know whats good for you!"  
My heart panged furiously as blood trickled from the corners of his tiny mouth as well as tears leaking from his eyes. I turned to Fan who watched the scene unfold with cool hands clasped before her, unmoved. Young Mr. Scrooge still held fast two the piece of parchment he held in his hand. Even as the two boys raided his pockets and withdrew what little money he had. "No please!" Young Scrooge begged upon his knees reaching up for the coin. "I earned that, I'm going to use it for a cab home for Christmas!" I then noted that; the two boys looked to be seemingly younger than Scrooge and oddly familiar to me; like a version of Mathew that was slightly off and even more so the littler of the two brutes and much worse the more taunting of the two was a near spitting image of our Tim; chestnut hair, large hazel eyes, tan freckled skin and all, only slightly chubbier and in refined clothes. But no, no that couldn't be right.  
"Poor little Ebenezer. Whats a matter; your daddy disown you because you killed your mum being born? I bet he wishes you was never born!" jeered the little bugger kicking Scrooge in the groin and toppling him back over for his companion to hold him down. "No one will ever love or want you Ebenezer, and you know why?" Another swift kick. "Because you are little, plain, poor and stupid that's why!" the words seem more cutting than any physical blow and they hit home with me because I had heard them before in my own lifetime. Scrooge blinked tears away and got to his knees and pushed the other boy back with all he had. "That's not so!" he rebutted trembling. "That's not so! My little sister loves me! she always will!" a new resolve begun to show, a fighting one and I was glad of it! But the elder of the two brutes found a new means of weakness and snatched the letter from out of Scrooge's hand and read the addressing; To Fanny E. Scrooge. At this point there was some vulgar comments from the elder of the two (vulgar enough to make a whore blush) and then even more so the boy held his trousers away from his body, rubbing the letter down there and then tossed it back upon the snow saying "my regards to your sister" and laughed.  
It made me ill and infuriated; had I been there in person, I might have knocked the two idiots heads together so hard that they might have shared thoughts for the rest of their days. the disgust derived as a deep pit in my chest. I had never seen such hateful little monsters. Little Scrooge sobbed and held the letter brokenly because he could not in all good knowledge send it now. Fan spoke again. "My poor brother was at the mercy of those two for many years. He wrote me of it often." My heart sunk at this. "He was a gentle soul once, my brother. Very gentle and very helpless. But will you not look after the two others." She points towards the direction the two descend to and I shake my head, I had knelt down by little Scrooge in the snow and tried to place a hand upon his shoulder, only to realize that I was a ghost and these were only shadows of past events, though what it had to do with me or my family I knew not. "Less they get whats coming to them, I care not to ever look upon them again!"  
"But you do." She reasons. "You do look upon those two boys again. In fact, the younger of the two you look upon quite often with nothing but admiration and love, and you endeavor to call him father. The other you will note, is your Uncle Benedict Cratchit."  
I turn at this and gawk at her. "You jest with me!" I say before standing. "You must! That could not be my father!" Flabbergasted and horrified by the idea, I then look after the two boys who went down the road whooping and proud, as they praised each other as "Ben" and "Bob". I cringe inwardly. I had an Uncle Ben, I knew that by hearing it in passing growing up. He died when I was very little and dad would always turn a sickening color when my uncle was brought up but I never knew why. This I could believe, was plausible, but my dad having a mean spirit, even as a boy was impossible to comprehend. Especially when he had fought so hard to instill in all his children the art of kindness and good will. What had changed in him then?

The scene begun to morph into something different Such a mournful face. Yet it bore no sign of true sadness; not in watery eyes, not in a trembling lip and yet somehow all the sadness was in the eyes, you could mark it quite apparent in their blueness, like saves in the ocean. He was nineteen here and standing over a hospital bed which held in it a sheet under which was a lumpy form that was somehow still elegantly enough formed that One could tell that it was a woman underneath  
I turned to Fan behind me who's solemn nod ascents to me that the creature underneath the sheet was indeed her person. I turned back as he knelt down and folded his arms above her and wept into them. "Oh Fan, my little Fan. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry I didn't protect you better." He sobbed. In a scene behind him I could see…I could see a lady with a baby getting ready to leave, the child was about one year old and was coughing something terrible and I could actually feel it in my own chest, the mother in all naturalness looked gravely tired and worried. This sight wouldn't have been astonishing in a hospital had it not been that the mother in this case was my own and the child was myself. I stared at the fat little rutty face and hazel eyes; sickly and little as it stared beyond my mother's shoulder at the man sobbing. He gets to his feet when a nurse approaches with another infant, a new born one. Fred.  
Young Scrooge dries his eyes with the back of his sleeve and stands up straight as the nurse passes him his new nephew he takes the baby begrudgingly and cradles it looking miserable and I cannot help but recall a conversation we once had in the tavern where we took our lunches and he had explained why he kept his nephew at arms-length for so long. Mr. Scrooge had told me that he had come to understand as a boy, when a mother dies in childbirth that it was the child's fault. Thus he applied this to poor Fred…just as it had been applied to him in the schoolyard by my father. Oh cruel irony!  
My attention was then averted back to my mother and myself as I continued to cough and wheeze. Mum had hinted that I had been sickly in the past but never to the extent of Tim which had given her hopes that Tim would recover. Yet the odd thing was my mother did not look poverty stricken as she had for most of my life, she looked wealthy and thin and refined, just as dad had done in the memory before. But how was this? then like a storm blowing away dust the buried recollection came back to me. "We were not always poor".

The mist swirled and parted again onto another scene; the house stood a striking dark blue behind a forest of willows. I remember it vaguely having two sitting rooms and a library. I was an infant and tot here that was why I could barely remember, but I did have flashes of this place in my mind like a dream. I looked up to the nursery window and saw mum and dad arguing fretfully, waving their arms and all. Mum was crying.  
There were movers, movers removing fine furniture from the house. Oh yes, somehow I remembered it now…. We were not moving, we were becoming poor and being repossessed. I then saw a four year old girl out in the front yard, drenched in bows and lace. Pig-nosed and full cheeked. She spun absentmindedly and sang to herself, foolish little creature. Imagining that this was her castle and being princess of all she surveyed due to a loving father's fantastical stories and whims of love. She'd never had imagined that it would change.  
"You're bloody brother deserved whatever he got!" my mother shrilled as she followed dad storming out our front door, he was boiling. "Shut up!" cried my father as he scooped me up and resting me on his hip. "I am sick of your voice Emily!" he shot. "How was I suppose to know that Ben would up and get himself into a gambling debt and then get himself murdered?" he bounced me up and down more to try and calm himself than anything. Mum started chasing after the movers but never stopped addressing father. "How will we live Bob? How will we survive it?" she wailed.  
Dad spat the next few words. "Yeah well we can afford a few less of those dinner parties of yours and those damned dresses. Now the world can see you for what you really married me for my money!"  
Mum was wounded by this and shot back. "Go to hell! I wish I wasn't pregnant with another of your children or I would leave, you hear me!"  
"Good! Leave and you can go to hell!" he walked off with me towards the forest and Fan beckoned me to follow. When dad stopped he sat upon a tree stump with me upon his knee, he looked milder now. I wrapped my little arms around his neck and he touched my cheek. "Ah my little girl." He sighed pressing his forehead to mine. "I am so sorry for this, can you forgive your papa?"  
My younger self nods. "Yes but why are those men taking our things and why does mummy wish to leave?" I ask innocently. He readjust me on his lap and purses his lips as he thinks of how to explain. "I am going to be straight with you Martha, do you think you can handle that?" he asks.  
I nod again and he continues. "Mama….well your mum is very angry with me. she did not wish to marry me in the first place but our marriage was agreeable to both my parents and hers because your grandpapa left me with a large sum of money and now because of your Uncle Ben I no longer have that money." He looked winded by the explanation and adds. "Your Uncle Ben was not a very nice man."  
"All this is because of money then?" I ask.  
Dad pulls out his handkerchief and daps the sweat from his brow. "I'm afraid so my love." He consents. "Money can be a wicked, wicked thing, you must never let it taint your heart my Martha. You must be good and kind and try not to live beyond your means."  
The words had stuck with me forever.  
Behind my father and my younger self two young men in top hats approached with even steps. Both were very handsome young men with dark hair, though one had a more bulbous nose than the other and had slanted green eyes as apposed to large silvery blue. Both looked indignant as my father stood up uneasily and sat me down. "Mr. Scrooge, Mr. Marley good day." My father addressed them.  
"We just have a few papers that need signing Mr. Cratchit." Said Mr. Marley flatly withdrawing a book. "Then we will be on our way, we know this is a tough time for you."  
During the exchange Mr. Scrooge never removed his eyes from my father and the glance there was almost piercing. I wondered if he somehow remembered him and my uncle from the awful taunting of his childhood and if he did not see some just vengeance in this. if only I could read his thoughts. He never spoke of it outright even when we had become so dear to each other, I could not help but think that he did it to spare me.  
My younger self looked up at him, studied him, fixated. He sneered. By the end of it Mr. Marley begun to walk away even as my father was still pleading. But young Mr. Scrooge stayed put. Mr. Marley called back to him. "Ho Ebenezer, come along less you have suddenly developed a bleeding heart." The remark was smug, cast over the shoulder with an arched brow.  
Young Mr. Scrooge snarled and looked back down at me and then at my father. My young self backing behind dad's leg a little. "The man does have a child and one on the way after all Jacob, and we are in need of a clerk." At this my father's eyes brightened, clearly blind to the drudgery that was before him. He begun shaking Mr. Scrooge's hand profusely. "Thank ye sir! Thank ye, you will not regret it!" he then nudged me forward. "What do we say to Mr. Scrooge my dear?'  
With hesitation I answered. "Th-thank you Mr. S, sir!"

I suddenly was very much aware that Fan was still with me as she narrated. "Let us see more of your past." The scene begun to fade again and I found myself reaching out my hand to try and stop it from going any further, the first few years of poverty were very dark and very wretched. There were many arguments and many tears, and somehow I felt like I was always in the way though they loved me well enough; though it did not help that I was often shuttled off into the street so that mum could have some reprieve when taking care of the little ones and I was often left alone. Peter had been too small to remember anything of it and I kept the hurt and memories buried. It got better once Belinda was born; like somehow mum and dad suddenly saw the worth in one another and were beginning to fall in love. They were milder and more comfortable. Once Tim was born they were head over heels and a happy family. I felt an immense hurt that we could not have been happy sooner. I think in a way this had made me somewhat guarded. Such loneliness. And though it got better, it still was very hard to remember.


	7. Chapter 7

Again a change. Four years later, Camden Town; the new home of my family. This was the place I had known as my playground and schoolyard. There were crowds and crowds of people half-naked and fowl and dark and **destitute** and yet… and yet… for me it had been normality to be, as a necessity to become a normality.

Fan and I glided along the thoroughfare unnoticed as baker called to butchers, merchants sang out and every other sound of man melded Into one. Carts where being pushed and what not, the smell of bread, the crunch of snow under boots as they hurried along. Sheets hung upon clothes lines strung from window to window. For the first time, the angel Fan seemed to frown. "I do not see you anywhere Ms. Cratchit." She marked. I felt a small hint of a smile tug at my lips. "And you would not miss, I am sure of it!" I explain, I knew exactly where I would find myself.

"Look for a book mongers cart, and I will not be far off to be sure."

And so it was! There on the corner was a jolly book seller with large spectacles, bald-headed and a song humming from his lips as he dusted off his merchandise. And under his cart was a small girl laying upon her stomach from out of view; kicking her legs and reading. The little thief! She…or rather I would often lay under that cart when the book seller was not suspecting and drink the content out of a book as if it were water, return the book to its cart and never even think to pay for the privilege, clever little scamp.

There was a special smile on the face of my seven year old self; one that came with a blush alongside of it. It was a special book. "What are you reading?" Fan asks me.

I only turn away from my younger self slightly to address the spirit next to me, as not to miss any of the enjoyment my younger self was taking in reading. "I do believe I am reading about the little cinder-girl there; the one who wins **the heart** of the prince. The pretty, lucky cinder-girl." I said with a laugh.

As I said this my younger self turned the page and gasped loudly only to clap a hand over her mouth, with glittering eyes.

I begin to chuckle and felt I owed an explanation to Fan and **narrated**. "The Prince has just asked the pretty cinder-girl to be his wife and princess! Ha, ha I knew the end but it always somehow took me by surprise and I always gasp! It is involuntary! And the book seller always found me out!"

And so, once again it was! The fat book seller heard the gasp and looked under his cart angrily. He waved his dusting cloth and yelled out "shoo- shoo! Off with you, the little bugger! Off! Off I say!"

Out I came, curtsied and bolted off in the direction of the counting house! It was lunch hour and that was when I would always play the wickedest trick on my father, especially when it snowed. I would go up to the stairway that led up to the shop above the counting house (which was empty) and dust off all the snow from that railing onto my dad when he would come out the door. He would scowl, laugh, march up the stairs in a **false** threat and then scoop me up and kiss me and kiss me.

My younger self had assumed her station and was at the ready for her victim. From mine and Fan's vantage point on the ground we could see who was truly coming out the door. Not the clerk and father I knew but the employer with a beautiful blonde lady just behind him, laughing. I half wanted to sing out to my younger self in warning not to do it but it would have done neither of my-selves or young Mr. Scrooge and his Belle any good. And so I watched. And what a horrible and funny thing to witness.

Out stepped the young businessman with a cool nature; obviously in the mindset of wooing and being suave by the way he carried himself, young Mrs. Belle; in all of her middleclass beauty and refinement was all aflutter by the effort as she blushed. "Belle I shall count the hours until I can kiss your lips and question you over supper." He crooned in a silken voice.

"Oh do not be late my Ebenezer as you were last time, swear it!" she came closer to him and pressed up against him tenderly in the door way. "And do let poor Cratchit have a break soon." She added with pleading eyes. She went to kiss him and he stepped out the door slightly and due to my younger self down came a downpour of cold white powder, blanketing the young Romeo. Some ice must have gotten into his collar somehow because he did a little jig and tore at the back of his neck making the strangest noises. Belle giggled, I laughed, I think that Fan even smiled. But not my younger self, not young Mr. Scrooge who was now humiliatingly white and certainly not my father who was mortified from behind his quill and not Mr. Marley who was only slightly amused.

My younger self ducked down behind the railing as Mr. Scrooge got to his feet with a glint of murder in his eyes as he made a circle. "Show yourself! Whatever devilish little imp did this! whatever wicked pixie or awful sprite ye are show yourself to me and I will give you something to laugh at!"

Luckily young Mrs. Belle begun to dust him off and sooth him saying "oh never mind it Ebenezer" and then kissed his shivering lips lovingly. They were a handsome couple. They seemed to radiate all the things that love was meant to be, or new love at least; patient, hungry but yet mild, warm and lovely. Vulnerable. They truly looked at home with each other and happy. I smiled.

There was something sweet that I found in **vulnerability** , maybe because my lot hardly allowed for it. At this thought I rejoined the scene. Mr. Marley by now had jointed past Scrooge and had reminded him that their business was that of an indoor nature and that when he would return from **luncheon** that he might be so kind to leave the outdoors where it belonged.

When the three left my father ceased me by the arm tightly, a bit tighter than he had meant for sure. "What are you doing? What were you thinking?" he rambled frightfully looking around. My younger self trembled at the sudden mood change and sternness, father had always been the mild one and never gave me anything but jovial banter; which always made mum; ever the dictator, upset that dad "took sides". But now, my dad had a look of authority and an almost fear. "Do not come back here again! Why aren't you at home?"

"Mum doesn't want me there." The words panged me as my younger self shook her head. Such words, "did not want" but it was not to be faulted upon the ones that spawned me that I felt unwanted oh no, it was the dealings of my own mind. After all they had never said it outright. After all mum was a washerwoman trying to deal with two soon to be three colicky babes and a husband that was overworked, underpaid and overwhelmed and I was old enough to entertain myself. Even if it meant loneliness.

Dad bent down and clasped my shoulders and looked into my eyes with a keen sense of understanding. "I know you are lonely and it tears at my heart love, it truly does! But I cannot be your playmate and still put food upon the table, do you understand me Martha? Do not simply hear what I say girl but understand it!"

My younger self nods trying her best to take the words to heart and not pine for the way things used to be when we had money. "Do not think that because your mum and I are forced to provide instead of play that we do not love and yearn to play. It is out of a much deeper love for you and your siblings that we must make this choice." He says. I remember wondering even then that moment could there not be a balance of both? Work and play? Love and duty? Industry and togetherness? In later years I would discern the answer for myself that the two would never and could never mix and that; if money meant loneliness and false pretenses be it needing to gain or wanting to gain, that I would spit at it and run the other direction. Being secure enough not to need and knowledgeable enough not to want. A happy-medium that I would not be willing to surpass in either way. For I had seen pure wealth and pure poverty and neither appealed. Honestly, the risk of heartache all together to me was a waste.

"Poor girl." I said softly to Fan. "So very hopeful to be noticed but not yet cynical, no not yet." I sigh and Fan turns me towards me towards another road and pointed down it. This was not but a year later. Mad Sal's, the alehouse that was the place. I had nearly forgotten it! What a racy place, what a fine jolly house! I spent most of my time sitting outside that establishment if I was not at the hospital conversing with some of the patients. It seemed the two best places to be; both held different cures for different life aliments. At the hospital I held somber discussions with the elder who imparted on me knowledge and life lessons that my parents might not have been able to teach in their busyness. I delighted in elder people, some of them had no family or friends and ended up loving me very much. I delighted in their stories and took them to heart. It kept me grounded and I think gave me a sense of purpose; though many of my friendships there ended in loss and heartbreak and I would be alone again. It taught me the value of life and kindness. It surprised many of the nurses that I took so much joy in visiting sickly strangers for as young as I was, and they called me a great help for I didn't mind doing any task that I was presented. In fact, I was asked a great many times to take to becoming a nurse professionally…but no, that was not my calling.

But at Mad Sal's I learned all the things you ought not learn! I learned how to be a child! There I learned by observation how to do a jig, how to sing naughty little songs that I hardly understood, crude jokes, how to sport. The world of Mad Sal's was like a strange fantasy land. It was colorful! It was bright! It was merry and warm! It was everything that life wasn't. I laugh to think of it. Many a time I came home with a song I had heard from there on my lips and found a bar of soap in my mouth shortly after and dad after gasping, rolling on the floor howling with laughter. "Where in the world did you learn such a song Martha?" they both would ask.

But rejoining the scene in front of Mad Sal's one of the windows of the upstairs rooms opened onto the street, making my younger self look up from where she sat on a bank of snow. A little blonde head popped itself out and looked down with an angelic face and spoke in horrific English. She was my age, eight. "Oy, you down ere, girly?"

My eyes nearly watered at the sound of her voice, I had loved her so. "Ida!" I said aloud. "Ida Smith." I step forward to get a better look at her, she had a front tooth missing and three more baby teeth to go, she had red cheeks that were still babyish and pinchable but the rest of her was in total proportion and fair ready to blossom prettily into womanhood, where I was an awkward, dark gangly thing. I was a Cratchit.

"Who?" my younger self asked, getting up and looking round before pointing to herself. "Me?"

Ida snorted. "No! the other sod sittin outside! Of course I means you silly begger!" she exclaimed leaning more out the window. "Do you knows 'ow to read?"

"What?" my younger self blinked having never heard such awful diction in her life, especially addressed at her.

The blonde girl snorted again impatiently as I rocked on my heels nervously. "I says do you knows ow to read? Like hand writin and things!"

My younger self rang her hands shyly and stuttered. "I um- well…"

"Well can you read or not?" she demands.

"Yes, I can read. I can read books, handwriting is a little harder but I can try. I'm self taught you see-"

Ida was uninterested and clearly showed it by waving her hand. "Don't needs your life story, I just needs to know if you can read!"

My younger self got a little irritated and put hands upon hips. "And I told you yes I do!"

Ida got tickled at my sudden passion and laughed holding out a scrap of paper. "My mum got a hat from a fancy man, I want to knows what the notes says."

My young self cocked her head like a puppy and shifted her eyebrow. "Should you be doing that?" I asked. Ida only shrugged without a care in the world. "No, but I never does what I'm tolds to do! Life woulds be no fun if I did." She paused and mused a little before saying. "Say, would yous like to be my best chum? I don't have a best chum, and you look like you don't ave a best chum-"

"What makes you think I don't have a best friend?" asked my younger self indignantly and I laughed.

Another careless shrug. "Because you talk like 'hat! All prim like." she said matter-of-factly before wiggling in anticipation. "So do you want to be best chums or not?"  
My young self half wanted to be obstinate because of her blunt, dead-on accusation that I had no friends but the better half of me, the smarter half that was so intrigued by the idea and offer agreed to the friendship with no hesitation. Ida clapped her hands excitedly and beckoned me up. "Come on up then! I'm Ida Smith, Sal's girl!" she introduced with a theatric hand to her forehead. Always grand, My Ida.

My younger self curtsied. "Martha Cratchit."…I smiled.

"Meet me on the stairs Martha, we can goes up to me mum's room and you can reads this note to me and we can be jolly, good chums forever and always!"

Forever and always… Fan marked the tears in my eyes and I relayed to her that they were tears of joy and sadness. My friendship with Ida Smith had been the only thing that had ever come to me simply and easily. It had been as easily done as it was said. We were best friends from that moment on and shared in everything, we may have had nothing but we had each other, and that was enough. She made me smile, she made me laugh, she listened to me. and together we dreamed extravagant dreams. The daughter of a dancehall girl and the daughter of a clerk. Poor as church mice and yet; with each other, rich as kings.

Fan and I watched my younger self go inside and weasel through the crowd until I met Ida on the steps leading to the private rooms. We shook hands and then hugged, then shook hands again, unsure of which was the appropriate measure of two best friends just met. Before we went up she pointed down at two young men who were having lunch together, unsmiling, they were familiar to me and very much older than Ida and I. "See the handsome one there?" Ida asked seriously, my younger self looked and crinkled her nose; if I had to have deciphered which between my father's dreadful employers was "the handsome one" I would have honest to God said Mr. Scrooge and then kicked myself for weeks for having admitted it. "Yeah?"

"That's Mr. Marley!" Announced Ida declaring her preference. "He is rich, he is handsome and I'm going to marry him! But you can ave the other one, Ebenezer I thinks his name is." She said this as a rule. My younger self made a face of pure disgust. "I would rather end up a spinster." I spat, and with that being accomplished Ida dragged me away. Where we were to dream after I read her mother's note and trying on her hat of becoming fine milliners in our own hat shop with the name of Cratchit and Smith on the door.

Years passed together. Patiently working on our industry and practicing at our future trade; she at my house as Belinda watched us silently or me at Mad Sal's as we listened to shanties. It mattered little where Ida and I were only that we were together and working toward future goals and dreams.

grasp of business concepts and was a quick study at arithmetic once I got my hands upon a tutor; which was my father in his free hours; which were not many. A born businesswoman, he called me.

When we were fourteen and the time came to take the first steps in our plan, we went to the shop of Mrs. Julia Hogan; Camden Town 32nd Street to become if not prentices, workers. And so the scene for that day appeared before us. Ida and I standing together side by side in our best attire looking nervous. Standing at attention, hands folded as Mrs. Hogan in all of her portliness examined us and then looked back at our examples of work and then at us again.

By the looks in our eyes Ida and I desperately wanted to hold hands as if we were facing judgement day, or a bride and groom at the alter who only had each other to cling to. A gut wrenching feeling! An awful feeling.

Ida had indeed grown in grace and beauty. Shapely, feminine and always an angel, no trace of child left in her. Yet; I noted, perhaps for the first time, that my younger self at age fourteen; that my face was thinning; my cheekbones acquiring some definition, my lashes heavy and black and my figure hinting at a shape other than a spindle.

Mrs. Hogan eyed us again and said. "Give me the pitch again that you will give when a client walks through the door, you and then you."

Ida went first.

"Ello gove or Misses or Miss, take your hat and fix it up for ya? Buyin a new one? Whatever you needs we can do it right quick we can. Ave a good day and don't be a stranger! Pop in anytime!" Ida then turned her head towards my younger self and scowled. "Ah shit I made a bleedin mess of it didn't I? Christ the lord!" she swore to herself.

Mrs. Hogan was silent. It was my turn. I stepped forward coolly and swallowed.

"Hello and welcome sir or madam; what may we do for you today? Thank you for your business and have a very pleasant afternoon, come again soon."

Mrs. Hogan raised her eyebrows and crossed the room. When her back was turned finally Ida and I clasped hands. We both prayed that the others strength would make up for the others weakness. Ida's hats were so much better than mine… Mrs. Hogan turned and pointed at me. "I'll take you as my prentice." Then at Ida. "But not you." My heart dropped.

My younger self begun to sputter and plea that she had made the wrong choice and that I would not be parted from my friend but Ida grabbed me, thanked Mrs. Hogan, said I would start in the morning and dragged me out the door. "What the hell are you doing you mad clodhopper? You got a apprenticeship straight off!" I ripped myself away from her grip and looked into her eyes. She was hurt but not as hurt as I that we did not both get a situation.

My younger self spoke passionately to Ida. "This is our dream Ida! Ours! You cannot expect me to go it alone!"

"I don't!"

"Then let me quit and let us keep looking!"

"No Martha!" Ida shot before she draped her arm around me and led me down the street as tears leaked from my eyes. She soothed me. "Now, now Martha; stop that cryin love, just because we are not starting out in a shop together doesn't mean we wont be in a shop together later. Our own shop like we always said! I will still look for a situation I will, as a milliner! This isn't the end."

But she never did. Every place she went to turned her away. She ended up a prostitute and show girl at her own mother's establishment, while I slaved away for Mrs. Hogan; who would often out of cruelty, accuse me of stealing small amounts of money and whip the palms of my hands with a horse whip and then had me turn them over and do it again till my knuckles and palms bleed, making my hands hard to use and then after return the money I was accused of stealing back into the drawer from her pockets…. Oh sometimes my hands would just shake and shake…by sixteen I had very little feeling in them at all. Some people are just mean spirited, but she paid well. That was where Mr. Scrooge and Mrs. Hogan differed; Mr. Scrooge was a miser but he never set out to harm purposefully, Mrs. Hogan was simply mean beyond reason.

I was so thankful when she agreed to hire on Edna; sometimes my hands would hurt and tremble so bad that I needed help threading the needle. Thanks to fingerless gloves and frequent visits to the hospital or Ida tending to them, my parents were never burdened to the knowledge of how awful my employer was. though, I think mum knew one night when my hand seized up one night and a dropped the pot while serving supper and I wept that night in the confines of mine and Belinda's room. She kissed me often after that, spoke to me more gently, told me how proud and grateful she was for me.

I often worried that Ida, in her profession would suffer cruelties; but to my greatest relief no. she told me that her clients were always more older in nature, somber and lonely. The regulars, she called them, they were always warm to her. She loved her place at Mad Sal's, she felt home there, because it was her home. Mad Sal's never changed. She often implored me to leave my apprenticeship; but I could not… I had such respect for ladies of that profession because I could never be brave enough to withstand it and still hold my head high….but that was why Tom had fallen in love with Ida before he ever was engaged to me.

The mist swirled and changed the scene again. We were outside of Mrs. Hogan's shop. Mrs. Belle and Young Mr. Scrooge walking down the thoroughfare as it rained. Mrs. Belle was in a mourning gown, Mr. Scrooge holding their umbrella as they walked side by side. Neither looked happy, neither had the glow of love about them.

Fan and I watched.  
"Have I ever sought release?" Asked young Mr. Scrooge.

"In words? No. Never." Answered Ms. Belle as tears gleamed in her eyes.

"In what, then?"

"In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in another atmosphere of life; another Hope as its great end. In everything that made my love of any worth or value in your sight. If this had never been between us, tell me, would you seek me out and try to win me now? Ah, no!"

He seemed to yield to the justice of this supposition, in spite of himself. But he said with a pained look in blue eyes," You think not?"

"I would gladly think otherwise if I could," she answered, "Heaven knows. When I have learned a Truth like this, I know how strong and irresistible it must be. But if you were free to-day, to-morrow, yesterday, can even I believe that you would choose a dowerless girl - you who, in your very confidence with her, weigh everything by Gain: or, choosing her, if for a moment you were false enough to your one guiding principle to do so, do I not know that your repentance and regret would surely follow? I do; and I release you. With a full heart, for the love of him you once were."

He was about to speak; but with her head turned from him, she resumed.

"You may - the memory of what is past half makes me hope you will - have pain in this. A very, very brief time, and you will dismiss the recollection of it, gladly, as an unprofitable dream, from which it happened well that you awoke. May you be happy in the life you have chosen."

She left him, and they parted.

I then addressed Fan who was at my side as her brother remained outside the milliner shop watching his love go. "He did feel pain in it…" I say with parted lips. "Watch."

He placed his hand upon the shop door, lingered as his lip trembled, bowed his head and entered the shop slamming the door as hard as he could. It made my fourteen year old self who was manning the shop alone jump as the door crashed shut.

I went up to the desk and met him. I had not been surprised to see my father's employer, Edna told me he would be in that day. For a moment, my younger self did not recognize him. He was silent, pale and stared off into the distance as if looking anywhere else would have provoked him to tears. "May I help you?" I asked and still he said nothing.

"I…I was…having a hat made for my wed-wedding in…in a few months." He managed very softly before looking around and blinking his eyes. Putting his fist to his lips. "I need it no longer, can you please return my money to me." he begun to sob, actually sob.. my younger self gasped silently. I had never seen a man cry before. It was a large shock to be sure but to see the man I had only known as heartless show the most clear expression of heart…

I went and got the money and never took my eyes from him. He had sunk down to putting his elbow upon the counter and burying his head in his hand. "Belle, oh Belle." He whispered brokenly. I went to his side and said very softly. "Here's the money sir."

He could only manage a nod and to hold out a shaking hand as I dropped it in. my younger self had parted lips and looked very much torn by this. my first instinct was to comfort any hurting creature but Scrooge had been a different animal to me all my life like a hungry bear, dare I risk getting my arm chewed?

Hesitantly my younger self put her hand upon his shoulder. Fingers first, slowly, than a flattened palm. He did not roar, he did not bite. It was as simple as one human being consoling another one of God's own; marvelously strange as it was to think of him as such back then. His body racked with sobs. I bit my lip. "It will be alright sir." I whisper helpless to do anything else. He endeavored to touch my wrist but then withdrew and simply relented.

I led him over to a chair and sat him down so that he might collect himself. I marveled at it; he was human. No one would have thought it. I wondered what had made him decide to let on to his secret? Perhaps that to him I was a stranger and that I was so little that he assumed I would never let on. But nevertheless he in his own way sought comfort and I gave it.

It was a distant sort of comfort, but comfort no less. I had turned the shop sign to close so that he was secluded, made a pot of tea and now leaned against the arm of the chair opposite him in silence. He sipped away as the small shop fire crackled. His face was stern and set. He glanced up and then back down. "You're a queer little creature." He marked after a quick examination of me. "Too tall to be an elf, yet too odd looking to be a mortal woman. A pixie, I would say." He says this with a hint of bitterness. I was even and calm in my reply.

"If it pleases you that I should be a pixie sir, then I will be a pixie."

He scoffs. "Women, always the pleasing lot." He rolls his eyes. "Do you have a name?"

"Does my name really matter to you at present?" he might have run away or took out a vendetta on my father if I told him.

"No, not really." He dropped the matter with honesty which I admired, then leant forward and spoke more to himself, putting his cup down and pressing his palms together. "I do not understand Belle." Was how he begun. "Everything I did was for her so that she could be the wife of a rich man like Mrs. Fezziwig. These things do not simply happen overnight. I did nothing wrong!"

A small, involuntary noise came from my throat and his head shot up irately. "You obviously have thoughts to the contrary." He reasons. "Sing out then; pixie, let me know it. What say you?" He challenged. I blinked startled and then calmly poured him more tea. "I didn't say anything." I remind him.

"What think you then!?" he demanded. I sat down and looked him square in the eyes, with no fear; a trick I had learned from my father when he was straight with me. Look straight into the eyes, fear nothing and speak true when someone asks, no matter who it is.

"I was just thinking, why would a woman want to be like another woman when she is herself?"

It was his turn to blink. He placed an impatient hand upon his knee. "What? What! Do you speak to me in riddles now? I am at the crisis of my life and you speak to me in riddles?!"

I put my hand up to assure him. "Peace! Peace, hear me! I mean to say that maybe your good lady did not wish to live the life of Mrs. Fezziwig; whoever that is and wished to lead her own life." he said nothing at this which told me he still did not follow and I huffed. "Maybe you were enough!" I finally said bluntly, and go to poking the fire which I might add was the only light in the shop. "Some women just want a man to love them good and proper. I think sir that maybe you wanted the life of Mrs. Fezziwig, not her. some women; like me, have an aversion to that kind of lifestyle because they fear the loneliness of a husband trying too hard to maintain it or the hardship of losing it all. I think that perhaps having an abundance of money that one refuses to spend is a replacement for insecurity that one refuses to confront."

He snorted, musing on every aspect of what he was saying, prolonging the sentence. "An aversion to wealth- I've never heard anything so ridiculous in my life! Everything you say is a humbug! I am quite secure in who I am."

"Are you?"

"Yes!" he growled getting to his feet. He pointed at me. " The problem does not lie within me! Your sex doesn't know what it wants! Our whole damn race doesn't know what it wants!" he grabbed his coat and started towards the door. "And look at you! You and Belle are just alike! Some sorry idiot is going to play for your heart and give you his in the process only to have you rip it to shreds upon a whim of indecisiveness. I am better off without Belle and whatever fool falls for you is better off without you hanging upon his coattails bearing a hundred of his fat-faced little children! Complaining if there is not enough money to support them and yet wailing bloody murder if a husband is late for dinner yet prosperous." He begun to grumble then. " make our fortune in good season! An aversion to money! Humbug!" he slammed the door and I ran out it to watch him go.

My younger self laughed to herself; pleased to have shaken him, pleased for the conversation… and pleased to have made him mortal. Yet all the while hoping that he had not truly broken with his love. It had been a secret pleasure of mine that I had even kept from Ida, I had talked to Mr. Scrooge and not been fined.

Ida… ida… I had forgotten Ida…

The scenes flew by. Happy scenes of her singing at Mad Sal's, me laughing, her and Tom being in love. getting engaged. Scenes of Tim being born and becoming sick. Scenes of me crying upon Ida's bed as she stroked my hair because we needed money for a doctor for him and neither employer would give a raise and mother and I had both resorted to prostitution. Scenes of how my every aspiration of love, being respectable and owning our own shop died off and seeing myself become more and more guarded.

Scenes… so many scenes…until…. One of my last flowers of happiness withered away… the final chance meeting between me and Mr. Scrooge before that fateful Christmas.

I looked at my friend standing in her coffin; cold and lifeless against the alley wall. I clutch my shawl and shuttered under the dimly lit place as the lamps swung eerily, listening to the awful sounds of London's seedy underbelly. I studied her face as if to cherish these precious last moments. My dear friend. My only friend. Snow begun to sprinkle lightly and my lip started to quiver both from the cold and a fresh bout of tears. She was in her favorite gown, my gown, my best gown. and even so the gown was still not fine; not fine enough for her sweet soul.

The man in the wagon looked back at us with a look of pity as he gathered up the reigns. "Fine looking woman." He says and I nod silently. "Yes, yes she was." I breathe slowly as wind suddenly picks up and blows her golden hair into her face. My lips part with a sob as I go to gently to tuck it back behind her ear. "Oh Ida." I sigh wanting to say more but the words fail me. I felt quite alone in the world. Quite alone.

The morgue owner called out to the cart driver asking if he was going to take "the last two" as if they were merely things and not people. the driver answered back that he had no room and that he would come back. I stepped back as the whip cracked and the cart rolled away. I thought about Tom, and my agreement with Ida to take her place and marry him, as if that would somehow fill the void that was now in our hearts due to her loss. I did not love him, I had never loved anyone, not in that way. But I could love him, for Ida's sake I was willing to try; perhaps if I went through the motions love would come. It felt so wicked for a last request, to cling to all that was left of her through marriage. To always be compared, to be second best to the man who had idolized her. What a sad, sad day; a lady, the truest lady I had ever known and having nothing to leave to her fiancé and friend but each other, and I was for sure nothing in gain compared to Ida.

The cart left with a rattling and rivaled to me that Ida and I were not as alone as I thought. I gasped as I beheld not two coffins over the refined face of one of England's most esteemed creditors, Ida's first love and deepest crush, Jacob Marley. They were together in death and what a cruel twist of fate it was. I was half expecting him to lunge out of his box and chase me off with a poker as he had done in life when Ida and I were young and we would wait outside the counting house, just so Ida could catch a glimpse of him. I was glad Tom was not there, else some sort of strange jealousy may have befallen him. It was like an awful Shakespeare play, no one seemed to love the right person. I began to tremble and step back, his eyes, his piercing eyes.

But as I stepped I noticed another party. Not in a box; but looking quite as dead and motionless as if he were. His hands folded in front of him as he stared at his partner. I looked after him for a very long time, wondering if or when he would give heed to my existence. After a few long moments past I spoke, feeling a sort of pity and empathy, I imagined Mr. Marley had been his only friend, and vice versa seeing as there was no other mourners. "I am so sorry for your loss." He didn't reply and I endeavored to try again. "When did he pass on?" I wondered if he recalled our last meeting, he didn't seem to.

"This morning." Mr. Scrooge replied bluntly, his eyes unwavering from Marley's. I had been surprised that he had announced at all. I looked down at my feet and tried to think of an endearment to be polite, then I looked back up at Ida. "My friend held him in high regards, she had always thought him handsome." I paused and swallowed, it was a strange way to try and both seek and offer comfort, but I knew not other than to try. "He um…he never married?"

"No." Scrooge grunted. "He saw marriage for what it was, a fools game. Marriage and love is the biggest loss a man can suffer. A good man of business he was Marley, up until he decided to die, which leaves us at a huge loss. A cheap funeral he said and that's what he's got." I felt my lip twinge at the lack of emotion in his tone and said flatly. "a burial at sea would have cost less." At this he cast a glance at me before looking back. "I did not think of that."

I took in a breath of my own and fixated my eyes on Ida again as I welcomed this course conversation as apposed to silence. "As for me, this is not what I wanted for her at all. Had I had the means, she would have a fine coffin, with flowers as far as the eye can see."

"A waste of money, for one who is dead." He mused. "She would not know the difference."

"I will know it!" I shot impatiently and then dropped my eyes in shame. "And know it I shall for the rest of my life." I should have insisted that she had taken apprenticeship at a shop. she might have made a fine milliner and cheated death. "You are her soul mourner then?" Mr. Scrooge asked rather stiffly. "No, her fiancé waits for her at the cemetery; he was quite too broken for this part."

The creditor scoffs and says. "He should be grateful, no bastard children to worry about. Bastards are quite common in her line of work, I would know I have enough fathers come to ask me for money, mothers too sometimes."

I stare at him hardly. "Is that all you see death as? Be it funeral or mourners, husbands left with children or wives? All it is- is an expense to you? An inconvenience? A days wages lost?"

Amused he cocks an eyebrow. "You deny that death isn't all these things?" I face him head on, thinking as I spoke. "No I do not deny the expense, nor the inconvenience, but it is where my inconvenience is born from as apposed to yours that I heartily deny!"

He leans upon his cane and tilts his head. "it is not in my nature to suffer fools, especially the like as little as yourself, but you speak so fervently that I find myself heartily interested to hear what you say to me next. Please, tell me where our inconveniences are spawn from."

I purse my lips at this as my chest tightens with frustration. "Why would I oblige you when you have manage to insult me twice in one brief passage, calling me little and stupid?"

"You mistake in your memory." He corrects tilting his head to the other side. "I did not call you stupid, I said that you were foolish."

I snort. "And one is less insulting than the other?"

Scrooge nods "foolishness can be abolished with a change of mindset, stupidity takes an education to cure, if such a pandemic can be."

He had stirred my passions and I crossed my arms. "And I suppose a learned man such as you can endeavor to change my mindset? Besides, it is not the uneducated that suffer the pandemic of stupidity, it is those unwilling to learn."

"Such as I?" Mr. Scrooge challenged and I shrugged. "You said it not me." I answer.

He smirks at this. "You do not owe me money I suspect that much about you." He notes, I look at him questioningly. "You have not endeavored to kiss my arse with words as most do; yet you are smart enough not to spew at the mouth in case of future encounters. Yet pray wont you insult me one more time to gain equal playing ground and so I might ask again where our inconveniences are spawn from."

"I told you, I will not oblige you-"

"Come now, you said yourself that stupidity it spawned from a lack of wanting to learn and we have establish that foolishness is a set of one's mind. As not to make myself look the idiot in this situation implore you to impart upon me your ideals of inconvenience; you as not to look a fool should change your mindset on telling one who wishes to be educated by you. Should you not?"

I did a double take of him who stared at me evenly, I had met my match and could not argue with the terms we both had set forth. He had cornered me with my own ideology; boldly and forthright but not harshly or condescendingly; though he looked down upon me I knew it was not because of my sex or rank. No indeed he looked down upon all living creatures as the same, he did not discriminate; man was no different from woman to him, nor rich from poor… something to be admired in a man, even if it is in bitterness that you see equality in purest form.

I relented with my pride put out of shape. "You feel the inconvenience strictly from your purse, whereas mine is felt from the heart, that I no longer will see her sweet face or confide in her my inner most thoughts."

"You think that I will not miss Marley?"

I did not look at him and say honestly. "By your countenance and by your reputation I know you will not, your money will not allow for it. You will put on the proper mourning airs of a gentleman and then when the time has passed moved on as if he had never been." The cart was coming back.

He smacks his lips together, had I looked I would have seen the slightest traces of a wound that I had made in his eyes. He cleared his throat and straightened. "Astute to claim me so heartlessly so bluntly and forthright." He starts and then looks at Ida. "but at least Marley left something behind in business, so the world will at least know he had been. The ones who do not contribute like your sorry creature there has left no mark upon the world at all, so it would have been better if she had never been. It is better to me rid of her lot and leave the ones who prosper so that the world might be less despairing."

I was infuriated and spun on my heels to face him, my black cloak swooshed behind me. "Damn you to hell if you weren't already going there!" I spat.

Everyone was silent. The cart was loaded and the driver beckoned us to follow behind. Mr. Scrooge and I walked in perfect tandem of each other. Side by side but at a distance. Hands folded, slowly. Silently. I kept looking at his profile as he looked straight ahead. I remembered when he had wept in front of me and suddenly felt sorry. I pondered if being stoic was not a sign of grief as anger had been for me. I stepped towards him and whispered with all my heart. "I'm sorry, I did not mean it."

He casts a look down into my eyes. "I know it. I forgive you."

We kept walking until we passed a flower seller and I implored the wagon to stop. It was two flowers for three shillings, I only had two. After a few moments Mr. Scrooge; in a move out of character stepped forth and gave the last shilling. When I pressed him on it, he said that the cart would not move without me and that he was in a great hurry but I thought to the contrary that it had been a gesture of a rare act of kindness.

When the time came for parting in the cemetery I placed one of the flowers in his hand. "For Mr. Marley." I said, my hand lingered and he looked into my eyes, before I put my hood up and beginning to walk in the opposite direction where Ida was to be put to rest.

"I know you from somewhere." He called after me. "won't you tell me who you are?"

My younger self turned her head slightly and with parted lips requested. "Make up a name for me."

He obliged. "Emma."

To Fan I repeated the sentiment with great attachment, not knowing how I could have ever forgotten.

"Emma…"

 **I hope everyone has a blessed and wonderful Christmas**

Mad Sal's is a place at the SF Dickens Fair you have to be 18 and up to get in because of the racy themes and I finally got to go this year and waltz at Fezziwig's it was so fun  
I really really like how this turned out sad though it is, I look the bittersweet encounters with Scrooge, somewhat forgotten, I think I did ok. I'm trying to Martha hints of Jane Eyre and Elizabeth Bennet. and by fair is my first "unwholesome and not spo sweet" oc

the next stave takes place the day and year after "A Christmas Carol" prefect fore New Years, yikes oughta to be interesting to see how to keep "new Scrooge" in character and what qualities to keep from "old Scrooge" ... opened to ideas


	8. Chapter 8

STAVE 8

When the mist parted again it was upon the Cratchit household in Camden Town; the last great holiday we would spend there; New Year's Eve 1843. I had never liked this holiday. I thought it was frivolous for a change of calendar and somewhat depressing that we were ushering out such a magical month of December to return to the everyday. But I did enjoy the morning mass I spent with my family, I thought the hymns were beautiful, the last Christmas hymns of the season. Tim was in the choir.

We all put on our best dress and bonnets to attend. Mum would always yell about being late but we never were, yet we might have found it bad luck if we did not hear her voice bellow through the house. The world might have come to a stop, or for that year…Mr. Scrooge might have gone back on his word. "Come along Cratchits, come along! We are going to be late! Lord alive, the lot of you knows how I hate to be tardy for anything! I think you do it to spite me!"… all was well.

Belinda and I laughed, and so did Lucy who I held on my lap. "Shall we wait until the last second to come out from our room to ruffle her feathers?" asked Belinda wickedly.

"Of course!" I conspired. "It is a Cratchit girl tradition to make mother irate before church! The clergy would not know what to do if they saw her any other way!" we all laughed again.  
"How will the tradition continue once we are married off and separated?" questioned Belinda. I thought a moment and rested my chin upon the top of Lucy's head and smiled. "If we are parted… we must simply make our poor bridegrooms irate instead." I giggled. "Think of it, the three most simmering men in church will be unmistakably, undeniably married to Cratchit girls! Oh we will have to make it up to them later to be sure!"

Mum stormed in then to clap her hands and shuttle us along in her fretful but adoring way. I smiled when I took father's left arm and kissed him good morning as Peter addressed the issue of how good it had been to have him home for one full week. Yes, Mr. Scrooge had given him the week off as another long overdue kindness. Dad said there would be a surprise for us after church and indeed there was; only, I was made privy to the surprise during one of the hymns by mum.

It was a good church; old, but warm and beautiful all the same. The clergy was completely holy and upheld the word of God credibly and patiently. Belinda thought that sometimes the sermons droned on and on; and so did I but the choir was worth it. Ida had protested the idea of church all together. Ida thought that one should simply do God's work and not just ramble idly with hands clasped. There was truth in this, we did and do make our own fate… but church was so peaceful…. I saw a great moving point in going, especially when the choir and congregation rose its voice in one singular meeting.

" Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright  
Round yon virgin Mother and Child, holy  
Infant so tender and mild,  
Sleep in heavenly peace,  
Sleep in heavenly peace."

In the midst of this grandeur, mum lifted up her side of the song book we were holding to hide her lips and leant into me. "Mr. Scrooge has come to see your brother sing and meet him straight afterwards." She said to me. My eyes darted to the front doors where heavenly light was streaming in and there he was leaning against the wood respectfully, his eyes trained upon Tiny Tim even as my eyes were trained upon him. My lips parted in surprise. He too was singing the hymn or he was at least mouthing the words. Humility and humanity looked well on him.

His face was still set with hints of lines that would emphasize sternness or disapproval but with the new light in his eyes these unpleasant lines softened into distinguish charm, there were brushes of silver that glinted when met with light in his hair and sideburns. Dressed to his finest, pale skinned and blue eyed. A very handsome man when he was mild, a very handsome man indeed.

My mother half slapped my arm. How long I had been looking I did not know. "Don't look back at him." She jeered. "Lest you want people to think you are leering, disrespectful to the lord and lusting after him!" it was such an extreme for merely satisfying a curiosity, I was appalled at the implication.

"You're the one that interrupted me in song to tell me he was here!" I whisper. "My first design is to look when something specific is pointed out to me. What would you have me do? Not look and disrespect you that way?" I question. She leans into me again.

"Just shut your trap and keep your eyes forward or it will be a proper wallop for you after church, I don't care how old you are!"

"Yes mum." I submit with a fleeting moment of annoyance before I resume loving her patiently and singing again but yet; no, not obeying completely for I kept him in the corner of my eye.

After the sermon and the final Amen was uttered, the people begun to dispatch and started filing out one by one to resume their New Year's Eve plans of parties and grand dinners. I myself was planning to go to the hospital that morning and visit with whoever would receive me until midafternoon…

Upon exiting my father was surprised to see Mr. Scrooge which tipped me off that the confidentiality must have been between my mum and Mr. Scrooge during a passing moment in town. "What ho! Mr. Scrooge!" Dad laughed then directing his offspring accordingly. "Line up children, line up! Good and proper and in order so I can introduce you! Look lively now, look lively! That's it!"

And so we were in a line, I first as should be in order of birth and Tim last. Dad clasped his employers shoulder and led him down the line. "My eldest, Martha."

I curtsy and he nods and moves on.

"Peter, my second." They shake hands. "A pleasure master Peter."

"Belinda, our third." Another gentlemanly nod. "Ms. Belinda, how do you do?"

"Mathew and Lucy." With a smile he kneels down and shakes both of their hands and takes the time to listen to both of them as if they were equals, and then resumes.

"And our youngest, Tim." The moment of truth…. He knelt down again and removed his hat and sat it next to him. He smiles patiently and says very softly. "Hello young Mr. Cratchit, I have been waiting ever so eagerly to meet you."

Tim only wavers for a moment and then smiles, and then as they both laugh with the joy of meeting each other as if it had been their destiny to do so all along, they embrace. "Bless you my boy. We will get you well again and if permitted, love you like a son!" He was sincere, it touched me, touched all of us as mist was in all of our eyes. "Am I permitted? Am I?"

Mum clasped her hands and bellowed. "You are!" dad agreed and so did Tim. With this, Mr. Scrooge in a single motion lifted Tim upon his left shoulder and walked with him there as if he weighed no more than a feather as Mathew, Lucy, dad and mum all fought for the honor of conversing with him.

Peter, Belinda and I stayed at a distance to talk among ourselves. "I think he's bananas and that mum and dad are following him blindly." Peter stated; blunt in his skepticism.

"Do not be so cynical." Said Belinda. "If he was going to swindle us, he wouldn't have waited this long." She then turned to me inquisitively. "Martha?"

She waited for my verdict, if anyone was a sceptic or cynic in the family it was me and with good reason and keen sense of my fellow man I usually was right. I took into account everything, the tone of his voice, the warmth in his smile, the way he had looked at Tim as dad used to look at me when I was young, how he had met us all as equals and the past. I spoke. "I…I think he is in earnest." I took in a breath. "I do believe with all my heart that he is in earnest."

And with that I joined the others and took my place at my father's side. "Normally we just have dinner and go to bed." Said he to Mr. Scrooge.

"Oh that's nonsense." Replied the banker with a smile. "You must join me at Fred's New Years Eve party, I insist all of you must!"

All of the younger children begun to beg and even Belinda when she joined brightened at the notion. "Of course we will come!" Answered mum in a flustered breath before a second could pass. Mr. Scrooge put Tim down and smiled. "Excellent!" he beamed. "I shall see you all when the bell tolls eight, you know the place Bob. Mrs. Cratchit." And with a tip of his hat he walked in the other direction.

"Our first party mother!" Lucy cheered.

Mum rounded all of us up with a sense of nothing short of a chief in command. "Now listen up children, I want you all to go from neighbor to neighbor and see if you can recruit the best outfits you can find to borrow."

"Emily!" Dad gasped.

"Bob!" was her curt reply. And no more was said.

"Will it affect my time at the hospital?" I asked of father as everyone else set forth on their mission to somehow become presentable. Mum overheard and smirked. "Not you, less you expect to stay their till half past seven. I ave your gown already. You get your dowry tonight love!"

My dowry? Did I have such a thing? Had dad not have been there to give me a reassuring nod I might have retired her to Bedlam. But ah no. She too was in earnest. She in all of her struggles and tribulations had indeed saved a trifle for her first born. Had I ever doubted her love (which I most certainly had) those doubts were put to rest by her wedding gown.

It was a beautiful, white, delicate thing that would have fetched a pretty penny at any given time. It fit me seamlessly, we had been the same size. My lips parted as I beheld myself in it in the mirror. My hair was pinned up with tendrils cascading down and I had the lightest dusting of rouge upon my cheeks and as I have said the gown fitted me well. The mirror showed to me a creature that halfway resembled what a woman should be; soft and gentle on the eyes. I was half inclined to look up what Merriam Webster would define this creature that had swallowed Martha Cratchit whole as.…I would have come up with this…

Beauty; the qualities in a person or a thing that give pleasure to the senses or the mind.

It seemed almost blasphemous to associate outer beauty with the eldest Cratchit, a phenomenon really. More of a thing that belonged in a circus rather than a party.

"If we put a colored shawl with it no one will know it was a wedding dress." Mum declared flittering about as the other girls came in with what they had procured. Bits and pieces from neighbors and even some costumes from Mad Sal's to make the illusion of presentable party dresses.

My sisters were tended to one by one and I watched, thinking. I had invited Tom to join us but he said he would not go. I told him that I would be lonely if he did not go and he didn't understand how I could with my whole family and a crowd. He did not know me. In crowds were when I felt loneliest. He did not know me and yet we were engaged and had been for seven years. That was how aristocratic, arranged marriages worked, no one really knew who they were marrying….Tom and I were not aristocrats. Ida had arranged it. Ida knew me… what was I going to do at this party?

"Martha put on your shoes dear. Now everyone don't forget what happens at midnight!"

Midnight. Shoes. A less than grand woman at a grand ball. Where had I heard this before? I had read it somewhere. My head was racing! Something told me that after this party change was going to be on the horizon and everyone was going to be racing towards it full-speed-ahead and that it was every man for himself. The younger Cratchits of course would have etiquette lessons and learn French, the art of silence, debut balls and learn how to be desired in society. Belinda had not missed that mark and nor had Peter, they were young yet and mum and dad had time to teach them. But I was near twenty-five, an old dog for new tricks. Where did or would that leave me? Abandon, again.

The shoes were uncomfortable.

Dad ushered us out.

We were off.

To describe what the party was like when we arrived through the eyes of my younger self would be nothing short of an understatement and sense Fan and I had arrived at this year and I was only a year younger than I am now, I found it hard to separate that self from this self, which is why I hardly reference us as separate beings. My heart, body and soul was fully in it now, as if I were living it for the first time.

The skirts of the ball gowns seemed to bloom like spring flowers upon the dancefloor. Everybody moved so intricately and in time. And those who were not on the floor engaged in a low but satisfying drone of conversations flowing as elegantly as the dances.

The candles danced too. As bright and as star like as the very star that brought The Three Wise-men to a humble manger on a cold but fateful night. The furnishing was pristine and lavish and beautiful. Fred and Joan Milark our host and hostess were also this way. The Cratchits were humbled. We were welcomed with opened arms.

Despite my protest father pulled me into a polka after mum was settled with a group of ladies and a glass. He wanted a proper dance with his eldest girl. He was truly happy, which made me all the happier to oblige. I felt like the only child again and he felt it too. In his soft brown eyes he still saw me as that fat-faced little thing that he would dance around the parlor, as if no years of poverty or hardships had passed between that girl and this. I saw mother press a hand to her chest lovingly and tilt her head and Belinda unconsciously did the same.  
"This was the kind of life I had meant for you to have." He said taking a tighter grip on my hand warmly, but his eyes did not betray his hints of feeling failure.

"I have had a great life Papa." I assure him as we dance at arm's length, I had not called him that in years. But, with everyone else twirling with seamless fluidity; and me never having danced in a restricting corset before, all the motion got to me. "Can I go sit down?" I say softly. "I feel dizzy." My first downfall as a society woman.

Dad looked at me with a smile that bespoke drowning love and pride, and coming forward kissed my brow. I could do no wrong in his eyes. "What a little woman you have become." He whispers and his fatherly love makes me melt inside and I shared his melancholy smile.

As I went out Belinda took him and they melded into the masses. They were born for it! I watched with bittersweet happiness.

I went to go sit down upon a bench were there was a vacant fan and watched the scene unfold with a grateful but pained laugh, as I begun fanning away pressing a hand to my side and trying to regain myself. It was only when I heard giggling and whispers that I realized that there were two other girls present, younger than I.

It took me a moment to turn to them and offer up a friendly smile due to the boning in the dress. "What?" I asked. They cowered a little at the sound of my voice, heaven knows why…

The braver of the two spoke up with a blush. "It is just that no one knows what you are trying to say." I looked at them stupidly. "With your fan."

I looked at the instrument in my hand and then back up at them. The two young ladies then explained to me with counterfeit patients that one could not simply fan oneself to get cool; heaven forbid, there was an art to it. Certain openness and certain waves meant certain things. Married, come hither, go away and so on…. It all got very convoluted in my mind. I had been sending mixed signals trying to cool down. I felt a fool. "Right."

I rose and nodded to them, and left the fan where I had found it. I bit my lip as I walked away as they talked in heated, blustering whispers and snorts. I went to the bowl of punch and took one of the flutes in my hand and scanned the room. Everyone was making merry, that was a good thing. The Cratchit boys looked a little out of sorts in the presence of young ladies, which made me laugh. "Go on." I encouraged as Tim and Mathew looked at me questioningly. "Do not be afraid." If only I could take my own advice.

A young man suddenly stood next to me and also observed. The orchestra swelled sweetly and I decided to comment. "What a lovely event!" I sighed. The response I got was a look of not quite distain but something close to it, and he walked away. I was puzzled.

"Don't mind Topper. Cheers!" Fred Milark came from the side and toasted me, clinging his glass against mine and then gave a further explanation. "He tends to take the rules of introduction too seriously."

"Rules of introduction?"

"Yes, two people of different classes must be introduced properly before a conversation can take place. I'm the host so luckily I have the advantage to talk with whomever I like. Where is your escort Ms. Cratchit?"

"if you don't mind me saying I think that everyone should have that advantage. Where I come from, they do and cant afford not to. " I say but felt foolish again and saw that mum and dad each had taken on role of escort and introducer for Mathew and Belinda from across the room. Had I wandered off to soon? It mattered little, the damage had been done and with how Mr. Topper and the young ladies were whispering and pointing it would be round the room soon. Oh I was humiliated, but refuse to let it show.

"I think she is over there." I said. "Excuse me." I set my glass down and started toward the garden. Once outside, I stepped out of the shoes and left them under a bench and sighed in my release of them. Folding my arms and looking up at the sky. I let the cool air whisk past me and was grateful for the breeze. Being outside, I was at a good vantage point to watch and listen without making another brutal social mistake. I was glad of that too. Ida would be laughing about now, I just knew it. Sometimes I think she can see from the stars, sometimes I feel that she still watches out for me in her way and sends me exactly what I need.  
"Ms. Cratchit?" a voice called me away from my musing and I looked away from the star I had dedicated as Ida towards the garden door as Mr. Scrooge joined me outside. I wasn't expecting to see him, I had seen him making his rounds but I did not expect him to go out of his way for me exclusively. "You are not having a good time?" he pressed.

I shook my head and gave a half smile as the curls danced against my neck. "No, I am having a lovely time. The best time I have had in ages!" I admit.

He cocks an eyebrow. "Yet you do not join in?"

I laughed a little at his expression. "I like to watch people and see how they behave, I find it very interesting!"

"A queer little habit indeed." He notes with a laugh of his own.

"I'll not deny it sir, truly!" I reply. "Also, I am afraid I do not know the social graces as I should. I made rather a dolt of myself earlier when I went to get some punch. I started chattering away like a monkey to a group round the bowl not knowing I needed to be introduced! And did you know that there was an entire etiquette to fanning oneself?" after I stopped giggling at my former embarrassment I sighed and leant back on my bare heels mildly. "I am sorry! There I go chattering away again…" I look away with another sigh. "This world is very different to me than the world I was brought up in, very different… my parents must be very proud of me making such a spectacle of myself." I say sarcastically hoping that he would not trace the hints of sadness that I had felt moments ago.

He steps forward with an almost sly grin. "Ah but a spectacle in a very pretty dress." He says, hands clasped behind his back and tilting his head forward.

I do not know what girlish urge possessed me but I held out my arms and span in it for him. "Do you like it?"

"Very much."

"You are kind sir… Tis my one and only dowry. Not a penny to our name and yet mum saved her wedding dress for me." I stopped spinning and met his gaze again with a bittersweet glance. "Now I wear it as a ball gown at a New Years Eve party. I feel as if it is ill used for sure." I can almost trace pity in his eyes and it touches me.

"You are truly lovely, regardless." My heart skips, it is the first time I am sincerely addressed with an endearment. I involuntarily shiver as a blush comes to my cheeks. "Thank you."

He looks back inside as the dancers begin to congregate once more, he looks back at me. "Will you come inside and dance with me?" he questions.

"Oh no." I say. "That is, no thank you. I tried dancing with my father earlier and got frightfully dizzy, I would be quite useless to you."

He sighed, almost looking relieved and came further outside and looked out at the sky too. "Thank God." He said mildly and then sat down. "To tell the truth, I do not know it either. The social graces I mean. Not well anyway. Since the whole ordeal I find myself quite a baby to the land of the living."

I halfway laughed in surprise. "You? I should think you would know everything, being of that world and all." I did not mean for the remark to come out haughtily, but somehow the way he looked up from the ground and into my face told me that it did. I touched my lips as apposed to biting them.

"And I would think as a woman the manor would be instilled in you naturally." Was his curt reply, it put me back but in the best way. "I was born a poor boy even as you are poor now and then retreated into myself before any social knowledge was bestowed upon me. Do not generalize Emma, it doesn't suit you, not at all. You are more of a lady than that." He spoke to me directly, personally. His tone softens. "We are as even as the ground you and I. sit you down next to me. Amuse me as only you can Pixie."

I take the seat next to him gratefully. We were silent but for the first time I felt at ease. I spoke first. "Are you glad not to dance?" I ask cocking my head to the side to look at him, he returns the glance. "Only you looked relieved when I declined."

He sighs. "Because of the expectation you so bluntly pointed out, of me being expected to know how to behave, I have been dancing since Christmas, thinking it the proper thing to do and have not stopped. And while joining the world again is exhilarating, it is also exhausting. Yes, I am glad of the seat."

"What made you decide to change?" I ask. He threw his head back and chuckled throatily. "Ah yes, that is the question isn't it? Asked to me again and again, what unmisered the miser?" You already think me mad. I know that for a fact, you said it outright in the shop. And to tell you may confirm that you are right." His head came back front and center but his eyes met mine and the proximity of our faces was very close. He stole away some hair from my eyes. "And we mustn't have you be right all the time, must we?" his voice was a low loll that had me hypnotized. "No." I say softly as not to disturb the moment. "We mustn't."

He pauses and I saw consideration dance and light in his eyes. "But maybe I will tell you. Maybe I do need confidence in someone. Maybe that was my greatest mistake last time. Stay Ms. Cratchit, maybe I will tell you, in time.."

I looked at him in earnest and spoke true, and soft. My fingers met his wrist as it came back down to join his side. "When you are ready to tell, I will be here to listen." And I meant it.

He didn't tell me of his revelation, at least not that night. We found that there were too many other undiscovered subjects to explore, and like wine we tried eagerly to taste upon them all. The conversation flowed from me to him easily. He went back in of course at an inquiring eyebrow from his nephew and fulfilled a required social duty of one sort or another; a dance, a conversation. And with some blatant ques from mum I did the same. But somehow we always found a way to resume our conversation, a way back to each other. I was uneasy at first with just how eagerly I wanted to talk to him. But I was so joyous in my family and in him that by midnight when all departed I had forgotten everything…literally everything.

The mist of the scene swallowed itself and Fan was taking me on again. This time we were at the hospital near Camden Town, my younger self was volunteering as a nurse, but she was different, she was smiling, glowing as if the rouge and the ball had never left her as she relayed the story to a few patients. Her hair was torn down and was in a cascading fall of curls but other than that there was no difference. She was happy. She was among her own kind.


	9. Chapter 9

STAVE 9  
As an acting nurse for the morning; that morning in particular, I seemed to be emphasizing the "acting" part of the phrase acting nurse. For like a young girl, I was acting out the events of New Years Eve seamlessly to the amusement of everyone. And the funny thing was, I could still hear the violins sweeping through my head, as if they were still playing. Yet still, omitting small sweet details of scattered conversations that were so trivial and yet meant so very much.

"Oh how romantic!" gasped one of the actual nurses snapping me back to reality, throwing a bed sheet up and letting it fall airily down to its target. "But did you ever find your shoes?" the question hit me suddenly and I laughed at myself. "No as a matter of fact." I say. "But I know where I left them and that I must get them or mum will have my hide." I trailed off as I tended to one of the patients who was finishing up their soup.

Suddenly my younger-self and I jumped in unison as the door to the ward flew open and in skirted the head nurse flustered and giddy beyond reason. She fluttered about the room holding a note in her hand laughing, practically kissing the face of anyone she passed. "He's done it! He's done it! A small fortune! A small fortune he's given us he has! Lord love me! a small fortune my dears! And he says there's more to come."

My younger self took the note and blushed at the amount. I stood handing it back and having little wonder who the generous donation was from asked with no hesitation. "Is he still here?"

"But I haven't told you who he is."

In a haste I untied my apron and without any knowledge of my senses primped like a small schoolgirl. "You don't need to. I've guessed and there's only one man in London with that kind of money." – and the true heart to donate it with a promise of more.

I ran into the front room and caught him just as he was about to quit the hospital. "Mr. Scrooge." I called out to him mildly and it was enough to reach his ears. He turned to me and welcomed me with a smile. "Ms. Cratchit! I was not expecting to find you here." Momentarily his smile fades into concern. "You are not ill? Tim is well?" there was a trimmer of panic that laced his voice and I reassured him with a smile of my own.

"All is well, I volunteer here when I can."

His eyes brighten at this and a light chuckle leaves his thin lips. "That is very kind but I am not surprised by the prospect, not a bit." He says this tenderly and we both stepped gravitationally closer to each other.

"Are you well today Emma? Only, I was just thinking of you not long before this." his voice is that calm hush that I (looking back with Fan) was accustomed to, it had a non-frivolous earnestness that I trusted. It told me that his inquiry of how I was and his thoughts of me were truthful and thoughtful, not simply gentlemanly decorum and duty

"I am sir, quite well." My eyes met his unwittingly as I thought of what he had just done, not only for my family but now for the hospital; another place where my heart was solely invested, and a sudden pride washed over me that I knew such a man. The words came passionately without warning. "You have no idea what your donation will mean to everyone."

He is taken aback. "My donation?" he presses with a moment of fane surprise before disappointment gave way. "It did not remain anonymous then?" he chuckles slightly shaking his head. " I had so hoped it would. You would think I would be used to it by now all my donations seem to come with a hullabaloo no matter how much I plea for secrecy. I suppose the gossip is too much of a temptation."

"Its certain to build notoriety." I reply with half a smile of my own, but he only frowns. "But that is what I do not wish; Emma, I do not do what I do to receive accolades and gain reputation. At least, not in the way it appears. I wish only to be known as the man people can come to in strife. Not some flashy banker who has decided to flash his wealth." He says the end part with a mixture of disheartenment and disgust as he looks away onto the old wood floors. Of course as with anything some of the masses and gossipers had marred and twisted the sudden change in him into something sinister and ugly. Heated whispers that the miser had a greater scheme in mind behind his smile. Something that my heart knew then even as I knew it now not to be so.

I touch his elbow with courage to bring him back. A soft, gentle touch as gaze met gaze. "It is not by the seal of your name that I knew it was you, it was the amount that revealed the kindness…that revealed the man."

His countenance lightens and he takes my hand with equal gentleness of a friend who sought understanding and found it. "Oh but you are good to me, I thank you." He kisses my knuckles lightly and then goes to leave again. An idea hits. "Sir."

He turns at the door. "Yes Emma?"

I swallow hard to clear away any nerves. "You said last night that you felt your failure lied in not having any confidences with anyone."

He affirms with a nod. "Aye, I did. What of it?"

Ringing my hands and biting my lip slightly. "Only, with as great as your financial donation was, I can't help but think a donation of your time and of your company would be equally as beneficial not only to the patients but to you as well."

"Heavens, the impish pixie conspires." He grins. "You have my full attention, go on." He comes towards me and the foolish impulse to smile takes hold and I quickly remove it as not to look a fool. "These people." my eyes motion back to the main room. "are in need of more than just medical treatment or financial donation of money. Some of them just want to feel like they haven't been forgotten. They want to feel validated sir- they want to feel…." Either for lack of vocabulary or lack of thought or nerve the sentence would not form. My eyes searched for any part of the room that would give me a clue, a hint as to what in the blazes I was trying to say. He stepped closer still and my heart lurched in an unusual, wonderfully agonizing way that startled me.

"Love, Martha." He concluded in a tone just above a whisper but yet still even. "I dare say they want to feel loved…even if they don't rightly know it."

I drop my eyes and then meet his gaze again with new purpose even though the strange new pulsation of my heart was beginning to frightened me. I cleared my throat and shoved it away. "Aye sir, you've hit the nail on the head, and with you reborn and all I figure who better than you who has just endeavored to donate such a sum to validate them as well. If your going to rejoin the world why not rejoin all of it, even the sad parts. They will be glad for the effort." I saw the hesitation flicker in his eyes and I unwittingly held out my hand. "Please, if nothing else- if not never again at least trust me in this."

The moments of him just staring at my out-stretched hand were perhaps the longest I had ever experienced. Was it brazen? was it forward for me to suggest when he had just said the night before he was like a new babe to the world entirely and that he would seek in me a confidant, was an adviser not a part of it? Or had he not meant it? Had he made too merry on New Years Eve and drank himself silly? God was I out of station, out of rank and out of my head to address him so? My fathers employer! A gentleman no less and only recently former miser. What was a matter with me? all these thoughts and more raced through my mind in a matter of a tick of a clock as I looked at his expressionless face.

"How passionate you are." He finally said. "Do they know what a dear, dear advocate they have in you and I have in you." His eyes softened and I breathed at last, he took my hand and the grasp was warm and earnest as it had been since Christmas. "I take you at your word, lead me onward, Emma." And so I did.

I turned to Fan distinctly to explain how well he got on with the patients and how he had made a habit of donating and visiting twice a month but before I could something happened. The earth begun to stir as if in an earthquake yet it did not affect the surroundings, only Fan and I. by the expression on the angel's face I could tell whatever this occurrence was good or bad had not been anticipated and for the first time since I learned that I was in the balance between life and afterlife I felt afraid.

There was a clap of blinding white light and suddenly I felt a new acute sense of my faculties. My limbs felt slightly heavier and weighted, I had a dim inkling that I was two people at once and an agonizing pull that I should become united as one. I felt…I felt that my soul and body were all at once near to each other, aching for me to either rejoin or depart.

When the light dimmed; all this was confirmed. I found myself back in my bedroom in our current house on Lobs Street. The curtains were drawn save for a slight opening in which dust particles danced in the streaming light almost mockingly. I could feel my own sickness looming in the room like Damocles' sword, vile and thick without being visible. And there I was in the midst of it. I looked down upon myself as a puppet-master looks upon its fallen doll; inanimate; looking putridly ill with skin the color of parchment, dark circles under fixedly shut eyes, gaunt cheeks, pale lips, frail form. And yet I looked strangely beautiful in my nightgown with my hands at my side, main of hair somehow well tended to and cascading off the pillow. I looked more like a cursed princess in a fairy story waiting for the kiss of a prince rather than death.

I was tempted to touch my own hand and reunite the two elements that made me as a whole but something that blocked the stream of light coming from the window stopped me. a long exasperated sigh. "Ebenezer." I whispered as I drew away from myself to fixate upon him.

He looked quite as wretched as the girl in the bed. His clothes were wilted and by the look had been for a long while, he wore only his vest, no cravat, no elegant cufflinks, the sleeves were half-heartedly rolled up to the elbows and even so the blue vest was unbuttoned without a care. He looked pale and tired, more tired than I had ever known him to look. Like he had not been acquainted with a bed in a good week or more. my heart went out to him. With his hands behind his head in a stretch, elbows at an erect point and tall form at full height he paced the room before running his hands down his face.

I tried to speak to him only to realize that I was still a spirit and could not do so.  
he slowly sunk down to the edge of the bed with something like a contented, doting smile resting on his lips as he whisk away a strand of hair from my forehead. "A moment of peace for you at last my love." He muses. "I am glad. Your fits are becoming less and less."

He clears his throat and reached toward the night stand and into a silvery bucket where a soft crunch of ice is heard, he looks at me thoughtfully as he withdraws a single chip and manages to hold fast to it. He inches closer to my weak form and gingerly cradles the back of my neck with his free hand to lift my head from the pillow and places the ice between the chapped lips. He gently rocks the crystal back and forth and I can almost feel the relieving cold and the tips of his fingers. "Your lips are so very dry my dearest." He muses. "So very dry and we musnt have that."

The look in his eyes… if I were a fool I might have mistook his tenderness as a little more than a paternal love for a friend. There was a small inkling in me that secretly hoped,…that sensed that it was more, that hoped somewhere that it had always been more between us than an adult playfellows love and regard. But that was misguided, stupid even. It could never be more. There never could have been more, that fact had always been cemented in my mind; just as I knew the sky was blue. And it had never bothered me. you cannot expect the sun to admire you back.

I half wondered how many hours he had wasted on me in such away, being newly engaged to Nora Ashton. Not many, I hoped. He put the ice back and looked upon me with something kindred to a gaze as the clock struck twelve. "they should be back soon." He says looking at the mantel. "In the meantime we should go over our books." He pauses as something side tracks him as his eyes suddenly become distant. "Tim will want to see you." My heart panged at this, my dear little brother; I hadn't even thought of it… it all seemed so real now… so dreadfully, awfully real. He continues

" We all thought it best for him not to see you as you know not to chance him catching it, but he finds it so very hard without you. We all do, the days just drag on; without meaning, without answer-" there was more but he didn't say. He must have been thinking of the loss of his own sister in this, of poor Fan who I left behind.

Mr. Scrooge then leans forward with determination as if to propose a business venture. "Come through, come through for Tim's sake if not for mine! Or Belinda, she will have callers soon and she needs a sister to confide her romantic schemes in without prejudice."

But there was no reply from the still form on the bed. He sighs miserably and reached for the ledgers on the floor and futilely attempts to keep up our luncheon tradition. He opened his and rested it upon me as he took my own in his lap. He turned back a few pages to the month of December 24th 1843 when I had last made an entry, then I glimpsed the heading on his book and nearly cringed, February 21st 1844. I had been ill and unconscious for two months, but in the spirit world it had only felt like two hours in which I had recounted and relived the last 23 years of my life, one must truly marvel at the cunning deception of time and how it has no true definition. But now I wanted only for my family and him.

Mr. Scrooge looked at the ledger and frowned as he always did, held the book at several distances, squinted and then pursed his lips in defeat as he dug in his pocket. "Blast how I hate your handwriting." He withdrew the round spectacles that he had hated most utterly and put them upon his nose. "Tis equivalent to chicken-scratch, and I know you only do it so I put on these confounded goggles! For I have seen you write notes to Belinda or Peter as clear as a picture." And he was right, I wrote in that way just for the sport of seeing him frustrated.

Then he sighs and it was laced with sorrow that had up till now maintained itself beautifully. "But it always made you laugh my dear, and my heart would soar at the sound of it." He then reached down and clasped one of my hands and spoke to me very seriously. "Emma, Emma listen to me, your laugh was my music, your eyes were the star that led me, your words my gospel. To know that we two treaded upon the same earth was my reason for wanting to wake in the morning." He inches closer to me with a kind of urgency. "Martha, open your eyes. let me hear music again, let me be guided. Martha, I'll not survive it if we are parted, I'll not .Not as the man I am now, the miser perhaps shall but I shall not." I knew he spoke true and hot tears leaked from his eyes despite his best efforts. "Damn it, Emma open your eyes,…come back to me."

And then the broken words that made my world turn round more than once. "Please, I need you here with me." Then, my world near stopped. He said those words to me? After everything? Nora Ashton, Tom, the scandal that near ruined everything, I did not understand. I could not hope to understand unless I questioned him which I so dearly yearned to do. To feel his mortal touch as a complete person, look into his cornflower eyes with all my harbored affections and question him with the benign, wonderful mystery of it all.

I went to rejoin my body again but once more sound drew me away, the click of the door. Mr. Scrooge stood up with an almost savage look glinting in his eyes as my parents entered with another man, a doctor. "No." he growled simply. "I will not allow this to happen." There was venom in his words as he glared at my father and dad glared back. It was such a violent change between the two men I had thought I had known so well. Then I recounted his words "the miser would survive…"

"Step aside Mr. Scrooge." Dad hissed, body completely tense. His fists clenched. What had come to pass? Where was the father I knew? Resigned and calm; even in Tim's worst, even in poverty. What was this? what was happening. Fred stepped in behind dad with an almost reinforcing look as mum suddenly begun to weep, Belinda taking her into her arms.

"Robert, it will end her, despite what this quack promises, it will end Martha forever." Mr. Scrooge had a mild shake in his stance and yet he stood firm at my side. The doctor a mousey, pimple of a man skirted unnoticed by him and started tending to me. taking my arm and examining it before placing a water basin under my arm.

Horror stricken I watched with bitter realization. Bloodletting. They were going to bleed me. I turned back frantically to the argument. "What gives you any authority here? Any right to decide what is best for my lil girl? You are a creditor not a doctor!"

"The authority of experience, Bob!" retorted Scrooge before looking to his nephew who was approaching him like a zookeeper attempts to approach a wild animal to calm it. "Fred this is the means in which we lost your mother, my dear sister; would you have this poor girl suffer the same fate?"

"Bob-" mum entreated but to no avail. As I watched the doctor's diligent, slow preparations it made me recount in sickening dread how Ida was taken before her time in the same ghastly way. How a little fever had turned into an agonizing, weakening death that I could have stopped but hadn't the knowledge to until he told me what he believed to me the fatalness of it. I had been prepared to die if it was natural, but not indirect murder! Not when there was hope, which my soul's presence told me there was.

"I will not stand by and do nothing!" Dad cried, the knife glinted in the corner of my eye and I gasped.

"But by doing this you hinder her further!"

"You're not a father you don't understand!"

"I could be. Believe me she would not want this!"

"Listen to him!" I plead unheard by all but going to my father with my spirit in hopes that I might have effect on someone. "Please listen to him!" I was desperate, desperate to be seen, desperate to be heard. I reached out and touched nothing. I was crying now, slipping away again. "My God why won't anybody listen to him!"

But then with a kind of unbridled strength I had only seen once before Mr. Scrooge grasped the doctor by the shirt and wrenched him over the bed to the other side, the basin shattering and with the wrath of the lord almighty pinned him to the wall. "No! I will not have you take her from me!" he snarls. "Not another woman that I love. I will not! Not again!"

"Uncle!" Fred cries drawing him back by the arms and trying to drag him away but still he advocated for me fervently; my friend, my benefactor, and my champion. Ever my champion. "Dear God I cannot be parted from him again!"

I begin to fight, even as I was fading back to the place I was before, even as the blood was beginning to drain I fought to get back to myself, to get back to my family, to get back to him. Even as Scrooge- Ebenezer, my Ebenezer fought against the restrains of his nephew to get to me. But I was slipping, farther and farther, and it was like running against the tide…another flash of white light…I was back with Fan.

"No!" I cursed as tears ran hot down my cheeks. "No, No! Ebenezer, no." the last part was in a tremulous whisper. I had missed my chance, as with so many times before I had missed my chance on a stupid whim. I sank to my knees.

"What happened?" Fan asked coming toward me.

I stared off into the blank white space with jaw hung slack. Finally I drew my limp arms in to hug myself. "I had a chance to rejoin my body; I was strong enough, well enough but I forsook it. Just as I did all the chances I had with him, I forsook it. Denied it and now I'm heartily sorry." I looked over my shoulder and marked painfully that she had his silver-blue eyes. "Oh, I really do love him, but I wasn't brave enough." I shook my head completely defeated. "Can you tell me if this is heaven or hell, I know not anymore."

Fan pursed her lips. "As I have told you before, you are in nether place. This is the realm in between life and death and all you can do here is remember and dream while you wait if you so choose."

She held out her hand awaiting my answer. I took it brokenly with little to no other choice. "Let me live in memory then, lead me on."

And the mist of memory swirled once more.

its soo good to be back, I may be a little rusty on writing romance but my recent real-life romance disappointments have really shaken me, so hopefully its not too soon or mushy, I was going for the beginning hints of a confusing friendship/crush for Martha, and yes she is still dying and is looking back on her life leading up to her death with fan, we'll see as this progresses if I can still make the relationship believable in the beginning stages.

I wanted to take a break from the past and show what was going on in the real world and maybe have character development from where they were to where they are noww, hopefully that wasn't a mistake, if it is i'll cut the chapter and go back to the flashbacks if not i'll jump off from here with more flashbacks in stave 10

comments please, I really need the boost


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